The Wistful Petal

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2026-08-20 08:21:46 -

The Wistful Petal

The chapel stood at the edge of the village, a skeletal thing of white stone and broken glass, its walls sweating with a dampness that smelled of wet wool and old iron. I had spent the better part of my life cataloging its decay, measuring the erosion of its mortar, documenting the slow surrender of its architecture to the indifferent weight of the earth. It was a job I loved, or perhaps I had...

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