The Wistful Mountain

added blog Literature

2026-08-21 11:35:22 -

Elias woke in the dark. The air tasted of iron and old rain. He was in the cell. The stone walls pressed close. He remembered the dream. In the dream, his hands were not his own. They were made of clay. They cracked. He looked at his hands now. They were red. Swollen. The skin was peeling. The nails were black. He flexed his fingers. Pain shot through his palms. It was a sharp, clean pain. He...

0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews