The Wistful Petal

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2026-08-22 00:37:07 -

The Wistful Petal

The hall smelled of roasted swan and wet wool. It was a heavy, suffocating scent, baked into the tapestries that hung like flayed skins from the high beams. Little Thomas stood by the hearth, his small hands trembling not from cold, but from the vibration of the lute strings three feet away. He watched the Lady of the Manor, Eleanor, pour wine into the cup of the Baron. The wine was dark,...

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