The Wistful Petal

added blog Literature

2026-08-20 16:07:43 -

The Wistful Petal

The dream was a house. It stood in a field of white ash, the walls weeping black soot. Thomas stood at the threshold. His hands were full of dust. He looked up. The ceiling was gone. The sky was a bruise. Purple and swollen. It did not move. It did not breathe. It simply was. He knew the house. He had lived there for thirty years. He had polished the banister until it gleamed like bone. He had...

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