The Wistful Dinner

added blog Literature

2026-08-19 08:50:08 -

The ink was wet. It bled into the parchment like a bruise spreading under skin. Elias sat in the drafty corridor of the Abbey of St. Jude, his knees drawn up to his chest, watching the letters dissolve. They were not words. They were marks. Scars on the page. He had been told they were prayers, but Elias knew better. They were cages. The air in the cloister smelled of damp stone and candle wax,...

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