The Faded River

added blog Literature

2026-08-21 00:52:58 -

The Faded River

The banquet hall smelled of wax and old wine. Marcus sat at the head of the table. He was a prisoner here. Not in chains. In silence. The walls breathed. They expanded and contracted like the lungs of a sleeping beast. The air was thick, golden, suspended in time. He held the bird. It was a sparrow. Or it had been. Now it was a skeleton of feathers, brittle and dry. It did not fly. It did not...

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