The Faded Chronicle

added blog Literature

2026-08-20 04:18:17 -

The rain had stopped, but the mud remained. It clung to my boots like a second skin, heavy and dark. I stood at the edge of the forest, looking back at the house. My father was gone. He had walked into the trees an hour ago, not speaking, just walking. I held the clay bowl in my hands. It was warm. Inside, the soup boiled gently. It smelled of thyme and old bones. I was a scholar of the old...

0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews