The Wistful Petal
The bread is gone. You know it is gone before you even open the pantry door, a sensation that sits heavy in your gut like a stone swallowed whole. It is a quiet disappearance, not the dramatic theft of a loaf stolen by hungry hands, but a slow evaporation, a fading into the air of the High Hall. You are a steward in the Court of Whispers, a place that exists in the margins of history, a palace...
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