The Pale Echo

added blog Literature

2026-08-19 22:30:11 -

The Pale Echo

The ink is dry. It dries fast in this room. Dry as bone. Dry as the air that tastes of dust and old paper. You sit. You look down. Your hands are still. They are very still. You are waiting. The letter sits on the desk. It is a small rectangle. It is white. It is heavy. You wrote it. You wrote it yesterday. You wrote it in the dark. You wrote it by the light of a candle that sputtered and died....

0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews