The Wistful Petal

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2026-08-21 18:19:15 -

The Wistful Petal

The rain had stopped, but the gutters still wept. I stood at the threshold of the Grand Hall, my leather satchel heavy against my hip. It held nothing but a single, crumpled piece of parchment. A map, or perhaps a curse. I did not know which. I was a clerk. A man of ink and silence. But today, I was a man of departure. "Are you leaving, Thomas?" The voice was sharp, cutting through the damp...

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