The Wistful Petal

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2026-08-20 16:22:36 -

The Wistful Petal

The rain did not fall so much as it hovered, a suspended curtain of grey mist that soaked the cobblestones of a town which had no name, or perhaps had forgotten it long ago. I walked with the heavy, deliberate gait of one who carries a burden not of stone, but of silence, my boots sinking into the mud that smelled of iron and rot. I am not what you think I am, though you would call me a ghost...

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