The Distant Promise

added blog Literature

2026-08-20 10:16:33 -

The bread was black. It sat on the stone slab. Cold. Hard. I held it. My hands shook. The flour dusted my fingers. It was white. It was dry. It was the only clean thing left. The hall was damp. It smelled of rot. It smelled of sweat. It smelled of fear. I was the Baker. I was the Keeper. I was the girl who fed the dead. Mistral stood by the door. He was tall. He was thin. His eyes were dark....

0 Comments 0 Shares 5 Views 0 Reviews