The Wistful Voyage

added blog Literature

2026-08-19 09:45:44 -

The feast is a wound. It bleeds wine into the stone floor. You sit in the corner, your hands folded in your lap, waiting for the noise to stop. It does not stop. The city of Aethelgard is drunk on its own reflection. You are a man of glass. You make it. You shape it. You sell it. But tonight, you are not the maker. You are the thing being looked at. Look at them. The merchants. The lords. They...

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