The Faded Quadrant

added blog Literature

2026-08-19 07:26:43 -

The rain did not fall. It was pressed into the cobblestones of the High Street by a wind that smelled of iron and wet wool. I stood at the edge of the market square, my shield strapped tight against my chest. The leather was cracked, the paint of the city’s crest faded to a dull, bruised purple. In my right hand, I held the spoon. It was silver, tarnished black at the handle, the bowl worn...

0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews