The Wistful Petal
The brass shackle snapped. It did not break with a dramatic crack. It failed with a quiet, metallic sigh, like a bone giving way in an old man’s knee. The heavy gold cufflink, engraved with the crest of the Whitmore family, tumbled onto the polished obsidian floor of the Council Chamber. It rolled twice, came to rest against the toe of the High Commissioner’s leather boot, and lay there, inert...
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