The Wistful Petal
Chapter One The air in the Ministry tasted of wet ash and old paper, a flavor that had settled into my teeth long before I reached the desk where Minister Vane sat, his face a mask of bureaucratic indifference that I had worn in mirrors for decades. I clutched my father’s tincture bottle, the glass sweating in my palm, the liquid inside shifting from a pale amber to a bruised purple as I...
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