The Wistful Petal

added blog Literature

2026-08-22 08:17:50 -

The Wistful Petal

The feast was a wound. Candles burned low. Wax pooled like blood. I watched the flame. It trembled. It died. I am a man of the law. I hold the seal. I sign the warrants. My hand is steady. My mind is clear. Or so I was told. The hall is stone. Cold. Ancient. The air tastes of iron and sweat. Nobles feast. They laugh. The laughter is sharp. It cuts. Lord Vane sits at the head. He eats. He...

0 Comments 0 Shares 3 Views 0 Reviews