The Golden Echoes

added blog Literature

2026-08-19 16:34:04 -

The Golden Echoes

The ink was drying on the parchment. It glistened like wet blood in the candlelight. Silas sat alone in the high tower. The wind howled outside. He held the quill in his hand. His fingers were cold. The parchment was thick. It smelled of oak and age. He looked at the words. They were small. They were neat. They were a lie. He had written his name. He had signed the decree. The court was below....

0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews