The Distant Joke

added blog Literature

2026-08-20 19:23:43 -

The Distant Joke

The ink was wet. That was the first thing you noticed, not the smell of the parchment, which smelled of rot and iron, but the way the black liquid wept from the nib of the quill, pooling in the grooves of the wood like a dark, viscous blood. You sat in the center of the room, a square of white stone in a building that had no windows, only a single door that was bolted from the outside. Around...

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