The Wistful Petal

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2026-08-20 16:14:17 -

The Wistful Petal

The air in the Great Hall smells of dust and old brass. You stand at the end of the long, mahogany table. Your hands are steady. They have always been steady. That is the price of the uniform you wore for thirty years. Now you wear a suit of gray wool that fits poorly at the shoulders, but your hands remain the same. They do not tremble when the General enters. They do not tremble when the...

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