The Wistful Petal
The feast was loud. It was too loud. The candles burned low in their brass holders, dripping wax onto the tablecloth. You sat at the far end of the long oak table. Your brother, Julian, sat next to you. He was eating. He was eating quickly. His face was red. He looked happy. You were not happy. You were not eating. You held your fork in your hand. You did not use it. The room was stone. It was...
0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 2 Visualizações 0 Anterior