The Distant Crown
The ladle hit the bottom of the copper pot with a dull, metallic thud, and I froze, my hand still suspended in the steam, watching the broth swirl into a dark, oily vortex. I had been at Blackwood Sanatorium for only three days, and the silence of the kitchen was already a physical weight, pressing against my eardrums, thick and suffocating. The head cook, a gaunt man named Silas who wore his...
0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 2 Visualizações 0 Anterior