The Wistful Silence

a adăugat un sunet Literature

2026-08-20 18:37:39 -

The dream was of honey. Thick, golden, dripping. It coated the tongue. It stuck to the teeth. It smelled of summer and rot. Margaret woke with the taste still there. Sweet. Cloying. She sat up in the dark. The room was cold. The moonlight cut a white line across the floor. Her husband slept. His breathing was a metronome. Slow. Steady. He did not stir. He never stirred for her dreams. They were...

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