The Wistful Petal
The bone broke with a sound like a dry twig snapping under the heel of a boot, a brittle, final report that echoed through the sterile, humming air of the Grand Chancellery’s lower archives. Dr. Arthur Sterling did not flinch, nor did he look up from the skeletal remains of the owl perched on the obsidian desk before him. His hands, steady as clockwork, continued the delicate extraction of the...
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