The Wistful Saga

added blog Literature

2026-08-19 15:38:05 -

The Wistful Saga

I woke in the mud. The scent of wet iron and rotting leaves filled my nose. I was not in my bed. I was not in London. I held something cold in my hand. A bone. No. A shard. It was white. It was jagged. It was a piece of a bird. No. A piece of a crown. I looked up. The sky was the color of a bruise. Purple. Black. Swirling. There were no stars. Only the wind. The wind spoke. "Who are you?" the...

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