The Distant Whispers

added blog Literature

2026-08-17 21:09:56 -

The banquet hall in the village of Oakhaven smelled of roasted lamb and old wood. It was a smell that stuck to the back of the throat, heavy and sweet, a perfume of decay disguised as celebration. Margaret sat at the long table, her hands folded neatly in her lap. She wore a dress of deep blue wool, stiff with starch, the color of the lake before the frost. Around her, the village feasted. They...

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