The Wistful Petal

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2026-08-25 19:32:12 -

The Wistful Petal

Act I Brendan Yeats was twelve years old, and his knuckles were split open from scrubbing the ceremonial hands of the King’s court, a task that smelled of lye and old blood. I stood in the stone chamber, the water freezing against my palms, while the Chief Steward, a man named Cillian, watched me with the patience of a man waiting for a coin to fall. I needed one day. Just one day to go to the...

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