The Faded Guest

σε πρόσθεσε στο Literature

2026-08-19 11:21:23 -

The Faded Guest

The jar was on the windowsill. It was small. Glass. Dusty. Inside, a moth. Or what was left of it. Its wings were torn. Fragments. Like paper. Like skin. I watched it. It did not move. I was ten. My name is Leo. I held the jar. My hands shook. Not from cold. From fear. The glass was warm. "Put it down, Leo." My mother stood in the doorway. Her face was long. Pale. She looked tired. Always...

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