The Wistful Witness

bir ses eklendi Literature

2026-08-20 04:03:18 -

The ink was black. Not just dark. Black. It seeped into the pores of the parchment. It bled into the skin of my fingers. I held the quill. My hand trembled. The tremor was not fear. It was resonance. The room smelled of iron. Old iron. Rust. Blood. Captain Silas Thorne stood by the window. He did not look at me. He looked at the rain. The rain fell in sheets. Grey. Cold. Industrial. The smoke...

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