The Faded Bouquet

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2026-08-17 18:26:32 -

The Faded Bouquet

The bell tolled at vespers. It did not sound like metal. It sounded like a scream trapped in a throat of stone. I dropped my pen. The ink spilled. It looked like blood. It was not blood. It was just ink. We are in the abbey. The year is old. The air is thick with smoke and fear. I am not a monk. I am a scribe. I am a servant to the word. I serve Abbot Corvus. He is not a man. He is a shadow...

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