The Wistful Saga

added blog Literature

2026-08-20 09:33:11 -

The Wistful Saga

The bread broke in my hands. It did not snap, which is how bread is supposed to break. It crumbled. Like dry clay. Like bone dust. The smell was sour. Yeast and rot. I held the pieces over the table. They fell. Fine white powder. Dust. We lived in the hollow. The village was a cup of stones. The river curled around us. Cold. Dark. We were small things in the stone. My name is Thomas. I was...

0 Comments 0 Shares 4 Views 0 Reviews