The Golden Cellar
The bread is stale. You know it before you even touch the crust. It sits on the stone table in the cellar, a block of dense, grey matter that has forgotten how to be soft. It is not rotting. It is simply becoming stone. This is the first thing you remember when you wake, not the pain in your shoulder, but the dryness of the air and the weight of the loaf before you. You are a guard. You have...
0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews