The Distant Crown
The iron bit into my cheek. Cold. Sharp. I did not pull away. I could not. The hands of the village elders were upon me. Heavy. Warm. They smelled of lye and old wool. They smelled of judgment. I stood in the square. The stones were wet. Rain had come in the night. It had not stopped. The crowd watched. Silent. Eyes like flint. I felt the weight of their gaze. It pressed on my shoulders. It...
0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews