The Wistful Asylum

added blog Literature

2026-08-19 23:21:46 -

The rain did not fall; it hovered, a fine, cold mist that clung to the wool of the cloaks and the stone of the keep. Inside the great hall, the air was thick with the smell of wet dog and stale ale. Sir Alaric sat by the fire, his back to the wall. He did not look up. He was waiting. The door opened. It was not a heavy bang. It was a soft creak, like a knuckle cracking. "You are late," Alaric...

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