The Pale Meridian

σε πρόσθεσε στο Literature

2026-08-19 07:59:07 -

The Pale Meridian

The ink was black. Not the black of night. Not the black of coal. It was the black of a void. A hungry void. It sat in the bowl. It waited. Marcus looked at it. His hands shook. The shaking was a tick. A small, mechanical error. He was a scribe. He was also a prisoner. The cell was stone. The stone was cold. The cold bit his bones. He wore a gray tunic. The tunic smelled of damp. And of fear....

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