The Wistful Petal

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2026-08-22 20:33:54 -

The Wistful Petal

The dampness in the basement of the Municipal Hall does not smell of mold, but of old ink and the metallic tang of rusted iron, a scent that has seeped into my lungs over the past six hours until I can taste the decay on the back of my tongue, a thick, cloying flavor that tastes suspiciously like the perfume Catherine used to wear in the winter, that heavy, cloying jasmine that clung to her...

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