The Wistful Grid

added blog Literature

2026-08-19 20:55:16 -

The Wistful Grid

The ink on my hand is black, and it will not wash out. It has stained the whorls of my fingerprints so deeply that I am no longer merely a scribe, but the parchment itself, a vessel for the words I have carved into the air. I write this by the light of a tallow candle that sputters and dies, only to be relit by the trembling hand of my executioner, a man whose face is hidden behind a visor of...

0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews