The Golden Crossing

added blog Literature

2026-08-20 07:01:33 -

The feast was a wound. It bled gold onto the white linen. The table stretched. It was long. It was endless. The candles burned low. The wax ran like tears. Thomas sat. He was still. His hands rested on the cloth. They were steady. He had been steady for years. The hall was full. They laughed. The sound was sharp. It cut the air. It cut the silence. Thomas did not laugh. He watched. He watched...

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