The Golden Farce
The feast was a lie, but it was a beautiful one, and you stood at the edge of the long table, your hands trembling not from cold but from the sheer, crushing weight of the silence that hung in the air like heavy velvet. The candles burned low, their flames casting long, distorted shadows against the stone walls of the hall, where the air smelled of roasted boar, stale wine, and the metallic...
0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 3 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen