The Wistful Mirror

added blog Literature

2026-08-21 01:02:13 -

The cell smells of damp stone and old blood. You do not remember when you arrived. You do not remember your name, only the weight of the iron on your wrists and the silence that presses against your eardrums like deep water. The air is still. It does not move. It waits. In the corner, a fern grows. It is a small thing, pale and fragile, pushing its way through a crack in the mortar. Its leaves...

0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews