The Distant Temple

added blog Literature

2026-08-19 02:34:26 -

The dream was always the same. It began with the smell of burnt sugar and damp wool. I stood in a room with no walls, only a floor of cold stone that stretched into a fog so thick it felt like water. In the center sat a table. On the table lay a bowl of porridge, steaming, yellow and thick. I reached for it. My hands were not my hands. They were too large, the fingers twisted like old roots. I...

0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews