The Distant Whispers

adicionou um novo artigo Literature

2026-08-20 08:32:50 -

The feast was cold. Bread sat in black piles. Wine pooled in the troughs. It smelled of rot. Silas looked at the table. He looked at the floor. He looked at his hands. They were clean. That was wrong. He wiped them on his tunic. The fabric was stiff. It smelled of sweat. He stood up. The hall was large. Stone walls. High beams. Shadows in the corners. People moved around him. They wore furs....

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