The Faded Masquerade

bir ses eklendi Literature

2026-08-20 06:17:09 -

The ink was wet. It bled into the parchment like a bruise. I held the quill. My hand shook. Not from fear. From cold. The air in the crypt was thick. Stagnant. It tasted of iron and old dust. I was only a scribe. A clerk of the dead. My name was Thomas. I served the Order. I did not question. I copied. But this text was different. The letters moved. They slithered across the page. Like worms....

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