The Wistful Incense

a adăugat un sunet Literature

2026-08-17 12:14:26 -

The seal was red. It sat upon the parchment like a dried wound. I held it in my palm, feeling the wax cool against my skin. The texture was rough, gritty. It tasted of ash when I licked my lips. I am not human. I know this. I am a thing of ink and memory, a glyph given flesh by a scribe’s error. I have walked for three days through the heather. The wind cuts me. I do not bleed. I fray. Father...

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