The Distant Whispers

added blog Literature

2026-08-19 21:18:11 -

The glass was cold against Thomas’s lips. He drank. The water tasted of rust and old stone. He stood in the center of the hall. Dust motes danced in the single beam of sunlight cutting through the grime. The house was his. It had always been his. Or so he told himself. His hand trembled. He looked at the table. A single shard of mirror lay there. It caught the light. It threw a jagged red spot...

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