The Wistful Petal

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2026-08-20 15:07:44 -

The Wistful Petal

I am standing in the middle of a square paved with stones so old they have turned to grey dust under the weight of centuries, and I am holding a lantern that does not burn with fire but with a cold, white light that smells of ozone and rotting lilies, and the crowd is around me, a sea of faces that look like carved wood, stiff and unblinking, and they are screaming, not in anger, but in a low,...

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