The Golden Farce

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2026-08-19 03:39:43 -

The Golden Farce

I dreamed of ink. It was black. Viscous. It pooled in the hollows of my hand, a cold, living weight. I tried to wipe it away. It would not leave. It seeped into the pores. It became the skin. I was no longer Edward Ashworth. I was the stain. The mark. The thing that could not be erased. I woke in the grey light of the city. The rain had stopped. The air smelled of wet stone and iron. I sat up....

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