The Wistful Ashes

bir ses eklendi Literature

2026-08-19 08:41:19 -

The Wistful Ashes

The ceiling cracked. It did not shatter; it peeled. Long, white ribbons of plaster curled away like dead skin, revealing the dark, wet wood beneath. I sat on the floor of my cell. The air was thick. It tasted of iron and old rain. I waited. They called it the Quiet House. No one spoke. Not the guards. Not the prisoners. Not the rats that scurried in the corners. We were all mute. We were all...

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