The Distant Threshold

added blog Literature

2026-08-19 12:10:45 -

The ink was already gone. I kept rubbing the corner of the page. My thumb, dry and pale, dragged against the cream paper. The name had been there. I knew it had been there. I could feel the ghost of the letters, a shallow scar in the fiber where the pigment used to sit. Now it was just a smudge. A brown, watery stain. Like a tear that hadn’t dried. The room smelled of damp wool and old brass....

0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews