The Wistful Petal

added blog Literature

2026-08-20 14:37:08 -

The Wistful Petal

The rain fell in sheets. Gray and cold. It drummed against the roof of the cellar. A steady rhythm. Like a heartbeat. Or a clock. I sat in the corner. On a crate. My hands were still. They had to be still. If they shook, I would lose. If I lost, we all died. I looked at the door. It was heavy oak. Iron banded. Locked from the outside. I was a soldier. I knew the weight of a rifle. I knew the...

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