The Wistful Witness

added blog Literature

2026-08-22 07:00:39 -

Thomas slept. The dream was black. In the dream, the glass sang. It sang a high, thin note. The note cut the air. It cut his throat. He woke. The room was cold. Dust motes danced. They danced in the grey light. Thomas sat up. His hands trembled. He looked at his hands. They were old. They were stained. Stained with glass dust. Stained with blood. He rose. He walked to the window. Outside, the...

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