The Wistful Mirror

added blog Literature

2026-08-19 05:52:29 -

The bread is stale. You know this. The crust is hard as river stone, the crumb dry and brittle, crumbling onto the tablecloth in grey flakes that look like ash. It is a feast, they call it. A banquet for the fallen. The hall is vast, echoing with the clatter of silver on bone china, the hum of low, respectful voices, and the heavy, suffocating scent of lilies and old wax. You sit at the head of...

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