The Wistful Petal
The air tasted of ozone and copper. It was sharp. It was thin. I held my breath. I counted the seconds. One. Two. Three. The silence was not empty. It was full. It was heavy. It pressed against my eardrums. I stood in the center of the room. The room was white. It was infinite. It had no corners. It had no shadows. Only light. Only the hum. A low frequency vibration. It lived in my teeth. It...
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