The Pale Meridian

added blog Literature

2026-08-18 10:42:09 -

The Pale Meridian

The banquet hall smelled of roasted swan and damp wool. Caleb sat at the far end of the long oak table. He was a clerk of the manor, a man of ink-stained fingers and silent duties. His place was fixed. His role was static. He ate in small, precise bites. The other guests laughed. The torches sputtered. Shadows danced on the stone walls like restless spirits. Eleanor sat across from him. She...

0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews