The Faded Ruin

added blog Literature

2026-08-20 10:06:27 -

The Faded Ruin

The dream was not of war, but of porridge. It was a thick, grey sludge, boiling in a copper pot that hung from a hook in the air, suspended by nothing but the sheer weight of its own malice. I stood before it, my hands clean, my tunic pristine, and I watched the bubbles rise and pop, each one a small, white eye looking up at me with an accusation I could not name. The smell was sweet, cloying,...

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