The Wistful Mountain

added blog Literature

2026-08-20 10:41:56 -

The room smelled of beeswax and dried lavender. It was a thick, cloying scent, preserved under glass. We sat in the parlor. The curtains were drawn tight against the gray afternoon. I held a small porcelain bowl in my hands. The clay was warm. It radiated heat that seeped into my palms. I stared at the surface of the tea. It was black. Still. It reflected the dim chandelier above. I did not...

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