The Wistful Throne

added blog Literature

2026-08-21 09:01:05 -

The rain did not fall. It hung in the air, a thick, grey veil that smelled of wet stone and old iron. I walked. My feet were bare. The cobblestones were slick. I held the jar. It was heavy. Cold. The glass bit into my palm. Inside, the amber liquid sloshed. It was thick. Viscous. A cure. Or a poison. The courtiers whispered as I passed. Their eyes were wide. They did not look at me. They looked...

0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews