The Wistful Ashes

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2026-08-17 18:33:54 -

The Wistful Ashes

You hold the cup. It is chipped. The glaze is worn smooth by ten thousand lips. You are a potter. Your hands are thick with clay. The hall is bright. Candles burn. Smoke curls. The air is thick with roasting meat. It smells of fat and fear. You sit at the high table. You are not important. You are just a servant. The lord laughs. He drinks. The cup is in his hand. You watch it. It is your work....

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