The Golden Circuit
The ink on the parchment was not yet dry, the violet pigment bleeding slightly into the rough grain of the sheepskin as if the very fibers of the document were trying to digest the confession that had just been scrawled upon them, a visceral reaction to the weight of the words that had been dragged across the surface by a hand that trembled with a fatigue so profound it felt less like a...
0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews