The Wistful Ashes

a adăugat un sunet Literature

2026-08-19 10:19:49 -

The Wistful Ashes

The carriage rattles over the broken cobblestones. You grip the leather seat. Your knuckles are white. The road winds up toward the citadel. It stands against the grey sky. It is a monument to order. To permanence. You are not permanent. You are dust. You are an exile. You are here to beg for a place to breathe. The air smells of wet stone and old iron. It is the scent of power. You inhale it....

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