The Wistful Show

added blog Literature

2026-08-20 14:11:24 -

The Wistful Show

The rain fell like iron filings, cold and heavy, striking the mud with a dull, relentless thud. "Did you see it?" I asked. My voice was a scrape of dry wood against stone. My brother turned. His eyes were wide, white-rimmed, fixed on something beyond the mist. He did not answer. He only stared. We stood in the courtyard of the keep. The stone was slick. The air smelled of wet wool and old...

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