The Wistful Mirror

added blog Literature

2026-08-20 21:30:18 -

The ink was black. It was the black of a raven’s wing, of a bruise forming under the skin, of the deep, lightless vault of a crypt. It dried slowly on the parchment, leaving a sheen that caught the torchlight and threw it back as a cold, sharp glint. Aldric touched the surface. It was rough. It was dry. It was permanent. He sat in the high tower of the White Spire. The wind howled below, a low,...

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