The Wistful Petal
The ledger was open when you found it, the pages rustling with a sound like dry leaves skittering over stone. You had come to the Inquisitor’s study to deliver the petition, but the air was too still, the candles burning with a blue, sickly steadiness that made your eyes water. The whisper started in the left ear, a low friction that tasted of iron. It did not speak words at first. It only...
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