The Golden Oath
The honey was thick in the jar, a viscous amber that caught the dim light of my workshop window and held it there, trembling like a trapped eye, and I watched it with a stillness that felt less like calm and more like the suspension of a breath held too long, too tight, against the ribs of a world that had begun to crack along its oldest, most sacred seams. I was a maker of things, or so I had...
0 Yorumlar 0 hisse senetleri 2 Views 0 önizleme