The Wistful Silence
The bell does not ring. It hums. A low, resonant thrum that vibrates in your teeth. You wake in the dormitory of the Order of the Silver Spoon. The air smells of iron and dried lavender. You are not a nun. You are a Keeper. Your hands are bound by the rules of the House. The House demands purity. The House demands silence. You hold the jar. It is glass. It is thick. Inside, a liquid pulses. It...
0 Commenti 0 condivisioni 1 Views 0 Anteprima