The Wistful Petal
You feel the cold in your jaw before you feel it in your skin, a sharp, metallic bite that makes your teeth chatter in a rhythm that is not quite your own, and you are walking, you are always walking, through the fog that has swallowed the road whole, and you know, with a certainty that feels like a bone breaking in your chest, that you are not alone even though your companion, your friend,...
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