The Wistful Show

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2026-08-20 12:01:47 -

The Wistful Show

Mara sat in the high chair. The velvet was red. It had worn thin. She pulled the thread. It snapped. She held it up. The light caught the silk. It was white now. Once it had been crimson. She remembered her mother. Her mother had worn red. Always red. The color of power. The color of life. Mara was old. Her hands were dry. They cracked at the knuckles. She looked at the chair. It was empty. It...

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