The Wistful Petal

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2026-08-20 18:11:06 -

The Wistful Petal

The rain did not fall; it hung in the air, a suspended gray mist that smelled of wet asphalt and old copper. You stood on the corner of 5th and Main, your uniform damp against your shoulders, the wool heavy as a shroud. The city of Oakhaven was not a city anymore, at least not to you. It was a labyrinth of shadows and static, a place where the lines between the seen and the unseen had been...

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