The Wistful Crossroads

added blog Literature

2026-08-18 22:10:34 -

The Great Hall smelled of wet stone and old blood. Candlelight flickered. Shadows danced. I sat. I waited. The air was thick. It pressed against my lungs. I felt the weight. It was heavy. It was cold. Lord Ashworth spoke. His voice was low. It cut the silence. He pointed at me. His finger was long. It was pale. "You are the thief," he said. I nodded. I did not speak. Words were useless here....

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