The Wistful Silence

أضاف وظيفة جديدة Literature

2026-08-17 10:50:45 -

The dream was not a dream, but a fevered hallucination born of the damp stone walls and the relentless, grinding pressure of the castle’s very foundation. I lay in the high bedchamber, the air thick with the scent of rotting lilies and old wax, my hand trembling as it clutched the shattered remnants of a mirror. The glass did not cut; it sang. It was a high, thin sound, like a crystal goblet...

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