The Wistful Witness

added blog Literature

2026-08-19 08:31:28 -

The rain did not fall so much as it was pressed down from the sky, a thick, gray curtain that sealed the manor house in a tomb of damp and stone. Inside, the air was stagnant, smelling of beeswax, old parchment, and the metallic tang of blood. Silas stood by the hearth, his hands resting on the hilt of a sword he had not drawn in twenty years. He was an old man, his joints swollen like knuckles...

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