The Wistful Petal

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2026-08-20 22:17:28 -

The Wistful Petal

My hands were bleeding when I arrived. The blood ran from the cut on my left thumb, mixing with the black ink of the ledger I held. I did not feel the pain. I felt only the heat of the room and the weight of the silence in the corner where my father sat. He was not breathing. Or rather, he was breathing so slowly that the air seemed to hold its breath with him. His skin had taken on the...

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