The Distant Whispers

added blog Literature

2026-08-20 18:16:38 -

The feast was a wound in the dark. We sat around a table of polished oak, the wood grain swirling like storm clouds. The candles burned low. The air smelled of roasted meat and damp wool. I wiped my mouth with a cloth napkin. My hand trembled. I hid it beneath the table. My wife, Elise, sat across from me. Her face was pale in the flickering light. She watched me. Her eyes were deep wells. I...

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