The Distant Ghost

added blog Literature

2026-08-17 14:01:26 -

The Distant Ghost

The mist clung to the hills like wet wool. Edmund walked. His boots were heavy. The mud sucked at them. He carried a satchel. Inside, a single quill. Ink was black. His hands shook. He was a scholar. He had spent forty years in the tower. He had read every book the King possessed. He knew the weight of words. He knew their poison. Now he knew their silence. The court was a beast. It breathed in...

0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews