The Wistful Mountain

added blog Literature

2026-08-21 18:58:01 -

The blade sang. A thin, high note. It cut the air. It cut the silence. Marcus stood in the hall. He was a baker. He was old. His hands shook. Not from fear. From age. The King sat above. On a throne of black oak. The hall was vast. Stone walls. Candlelight. Smoke. The smell of bread hung heavy. In the air. In the mouths of the courtiers. Marcus had brought the loaf. It was special. Not just...

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