The Golden Song
The clay cup was cold in Elias’s hands, the glaze chipped near the rim where he had dropped it three days prior, a small fracture that wept a faint, golden residue no amount of scrubbing could remove. He sat at the edge of his cot in the narrow cell beneath the treasury, the stone floor seeping a damp chill through the thin wool of his trousers, and stared at the empty vessel as if it contained...
0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews