The Faded Road
The letter lay on the cold stone table, its seal broken, the ink smudged where your thumb had pressed too hard in the dark. It was a simple directive, three lines of cramped script from the Abbot: *The reliquary is to be discarded. Do not touch the glass. Do not speak of it.* You read it again, the parchment rough against your fingertips, the smell of dried lilies and old mold clinging to the...
0 Commenti 0 condivisioni 1 Views 0 Anteprima