The Wistful Petal

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2026-08-22 17:26:30 -

The Wistful Petal

March 12, 1348. The air in Oakhaven has turned to a thick, gray soup. I am Thomas Bradshaw, constable of the walled city, and I am forty-two years old. My jaw aches with a dull, persistent throb, a pain that has lived in the bone for three days now. In my tunic pocket, a small glass vial rattles against my hip. Inside it rests a fragment of my own shattered jawbone, chipped away during a brawl...

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