The Wistful Silence

added blog Literature

2026-08-24 09:31:47 -

My hands were black with frost and the grease of the lever, the iron wheel of the portcullis screaming against the stone as I forced it down, the sound a jagged tear in the silence of the keep. I was Elias, thirty-two years old, and I was shaking so violently that I nearly dropped the key into the mud, a small, cold thing that held the weight of my brother’s life in its brass teeth. Thomas was...

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