The Wistful Petal

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2026-08-21 22:47:30 -

The Wistful Petal

The blade was in my hand. The blood was not mine. I remember the wetness of it, thick and warm, sliding down the leather grip. I remember the sound of the man falling, a dull thud against the stone floor of the keep. I remember my own breathing, ragged and shallow, like a bellows in a dead forge. This is the story of the Mirror of St. Aldhelm. Or rather, it is the story of how I lost it. They...

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