The Faded Dust
The hall smells of roasted meat and floor wax. You stand in the corner, holding a cup of wine that has gone warm in your hand. Around you, the men laugh. They are loud. They are happy. They drink to the peace. They drink to the treaty. You watch them. You do not join in. You are the new clerk here. You are from across the sea. You speak their language, but your accent stays in your throat. It...
0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 1 Visualizações 0 Anterior