The Faded Portrait

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2026-08-19 12:22:33 -

"Did you see it?" "See what?" "The bowl." I looked down. The clay dish sat on the table. It was empty. My hands were shaking. I stopped. I breathed. The air was cold. It smelled of iron and wet stone. "Put it away," he said. His voice was low. It was flat. "I can't," I said. "It’s warm." "Put it in the crate." I looked at him. His eyes were hard. They were grey. Like the sky over the hills. He...

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