The Wistful Petal
The train rattled. Steel on steel. A grinding scream. Elias sat. He held a ledger. The pages were thin. Paper. Ink. The carriage shook. His teeth chattered. Not from cold. From vibration. The glass window hummed. Outside, the fields were brown. Dead grass. Winter. The air smelled of coal dust and wet wool. Elias was a botanist. Or he had been. Before the university. Before the fire. He studied...
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