The Wistful Silence

added blog Literature

2026-08-20 14:18:16 -

The broth was cold. I stirred it with a wooden spoon. The liquid swirled, gray and thick. It smelled of bone. It smelled of time. I looked at the bowl. I looked at my hands. They trembled. Who are you? The voice came from the shadows. It was soft. It was sharp. I am the Cook, I said. I am the Keeper of the Pot. That is not a name. Names are for the dead. I have work to do. The Prince is hungry....

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