The Wistful Petal
The bell of St. Jude’s did not ring so much as it screamed, a jagged tear in the fabric of the silence that had kept the chapel safe for three centuries, and when the sound finally died, leaving only the ringing in my ears and the dust settling on the ancient flagstones, I realized that the door had not merely opened but had been unmade, the wood splintering outward into a shower of splinters...
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