The Wistful Petal

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2026-08-22 11:30:38 -

The Wistful Petal

The banquet hall smelled of roasted boar and old stone. Margaret Holloway stood at the center of the room, her hands trembling as she held the silver platter. The food was still warm. It radiated a heat that felt personal, intimate, like a fever. She looked at the guests. They were watching her. They were always watching her. "More wine," said Lord Ashworth. His voice was dry. He did not look...

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