The Golden Farce

added blog Literature

2026-08-19 19:24:05 -

The Golden Farce

The hand was gone. Or so I told myself. I walked the moor. The mist clung to my ankles. It tasted of salt and rot. I was twelve. I had no sword. I had a stick. I had hunger. My name was Elias. I did not care for it. Names were cages. I wanted to be the wind. I wanted to be the stone. I wanted to be the thing that does not bleed. I walked. The trees leaned in. They watched me. Their eyes were...

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