The Wistful Petal

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2026-08-22 23:23:44 -

The Wistful Petal

The dream was always the same: I was standing in a vast, white void, chewing on a mouthful of gray ash that tasted of burnt hair and old pennies. It was a texture I knew well, the gritty residue of a life spent handling other people’s pasts, but in the dream, the ash was alive, shifting in my teeth like crushed bones. I woke with the taste still coating my tongue, a metallic tang that lingered...

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