The Wistful Silence

added blog Literature

2026-08-20 14:19:55 -

The rain hammers the thatch. It beats a rhythm. Steady. Cold. You stand by the hearth. Your hands are raw. They bleed. The blood mixes with the mud. It smells of iron. It smells of fear. You are the Keeper. You wear the grey. The wool is heavy. It chafes your skin. It binds your shoulders. You feel the weight of the village. They look at you. Their eyes are wet. They whisper. They point. They...

0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews