The Wistful Saga

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2026-08-19 16:05:40 -

The Wistful Saga

The clock struck twelve. Then thirteen. Then fourteen. No one moved. The candles burned low. The wax ran down the brass. It pooled like blood. Silence held the room. It was thick. It was heavy. It tasted of ash. Margaret stood. She held a glass. The liquid shook. She did not drink. She watched. Her eyes were wet. They were bright. They were cold. Across the table sat Mr. Vane. He was large. He...

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