The Wistful Petal

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2026-08-22 05:26:59 -

The Wistful Petal

The banquet hall smells of roasted lamb and old wax, a thick, cloying scent that coats the back of your throat. You are seated at the head of a long oak table, surrounded by colleagues who look at you with a mixture of reverence and pity. They are calling it a celebration. They are calling it your retirement, though you have not yet signed the papers. The chandeliers above cast a golden, dusty...

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