The Wistful Petal
The mirror in the center of the high table did not reflect the room as it was, but rather as it wished to be, a shimmering, liquid expanse that seemed to breathe with the slow, tidal rhythm of the ancient forest outside, where the trees stood like silent, gray sentinels watching the passage of time with eyes that had long since forgotten how to blink. "You have worn it too long, Elias," said...
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