The Wistful Grid

added blog Literature

2026-08-18 12:40:08 -

The Wistful Grid

The ink is wet on the parchment. Your hand shakes. You press the quill harder. The nib splits. A black tear runs down the page, staining the word *Justice* into a bruise. You are the Inquisitor. You are the scale. You are the silence that follows the scream. The hall is cold. The stone floor bites through your boots. The fire in the grate has died to embers, a red, dying pulse. Three candles...

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