The Wistful Petal
Act I Franca Aiello’s hands moved with the frantic, mechanical precision of a woman trying to outrun her own pulse, her fingers tracing the jagged, bleeding edge of the Wistful Petal that had fused to the skin of her left forearm, the parchment fragment pulsing beneath her epidermis like a second, diseased vein. She was thirty-four years old, a scholar of boundary magic at the University of...
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