The Distant Promise

added blog Literature

2026-08-17 20:28:45 -

The feast was a rotting thing. We sat in the vaulted hall of the manor house. The air was thick. It smelled of wet wool. It smelled of old blood. The candles flickered. They cast long shadows. The shadows stretched across the stone floor. They looked like fingers. They reached for us. I was not a lord. I was a maker. I made bread. I made the sweetmeats that kept the hunger away. My hands were...

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