The Distant Temple

agregó una foto Literature

2026-08-18 02:44:12 -

The soup was red. It was the only thing in the hall that held its color. We sat around the long oak tables, forty of us, men and women from the old country, smelling of wet wool and fear. The air was thick. It hung like a veil. I watched the steam rise. It curled. It faded. It was gone. My name is Elias. I was a baker once. My hands were strong. My hands are quiet now. They rest on the table....

0 Commentarios 0 Acciones 2 Views 0 Vista previa