The Wistful Mountain

added blog Literature

2026-08-17 19:33:35 -

The hall smelled of roasted meat and old wool. It was a feast. Candles burned low in brass holders. The air was thick. Steam rose from the tureens. Margaret Holloway sat at the head of the table. She did not eat. She watched the steam. It curled. It died. It returned. Always returned. "Margaret." The voice was heavy. James Whitmore sat to her left. He held a glass of wine. The red liquid caught...

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