The Wistful Petal

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2026-08-20 00:13:03 -

The Wistful Petal

The rain did not fall so much as it hung, a suspended gray curtain that turned the streets of Ashworth into a smear of charcoal and rust. Arthur Pym stood on the corner of Wexley and 4th, his collar turned up against a chill that seemed to seep from the cobblestones themselves. He was a man of middle years, precise in his movements, wearing a suit that had been fashionable a decade prior but...

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