The Wistful Ashes

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2026-08-18 14:39:58 -

The Wistful Ashes

The ink did not dry. It bled. Silas watched the letter dissolve. The words were black smoke. They curled into the air. The room was cold. The walls were stone. Grey. Ancient. He wiped his hands on his tunic. The cloth was rough. It scraped the skin. He felt the scrape. He felt the cold. "Again," said the Warden. The Warden stood by the window. His back was to Silas. He held a cup of tea. The...

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