The Faded Road

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2026-08-19 17:25:07 -

The Faded Road

The ink had dried. It was a thick, black stain. It sat on the parchment. Like a wound that refused to close. I looked at it. I did not blink. The room was cold. The air tasted of dust. And old paper. And fear. My hands were steady. They had always been steady. That was the trick. That was the lie. I held the quill. I held it tight. The wood bit into my palm. It hurt. Good. Pain was real. The...

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