The Pale Meridian

added blog Literature

2026-08-19 12:40:07 -

The Pale Meridian

The hall smelled of wax and rot. It was a thick, cloying scent, the kind that clings to the back of the throat and refuses to be washed away. We were gathered in the Great Hall of Blackwood Manor, a place where the chandeliers hung low and the light was yellow, sickly, and trapped behind glass. My father sat at the head of the table. He did not look at us. He looked at the table. He polished a...

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