The Faded Attic

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2026-08-17 16:03:41 -

The Faded Attic

The iron bit tasted of rust. I spat blood into the straw. My brother, Thomas, stood three paces away. His sword was a sliver of white light against the dark tapestry of the hall. He did not look at me. He looked at the King. "Kneel," the King said. His voice was soft. It was the sound of snow falling on stone. I did not kneel. I held the hilt of my own sword. It was not steel. It was bone. It...

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