The Faded Guest

added blog Literature

2026-08-21 08:58:49 -

The Faded Guest

The hall smelled of roasting swan and stale wine. It was a feast. Not for joy. For power. Marcus stood at the edge of the tapestry. He was a man of few words. He watched the King. The King sat high. High on a throne of black iron. He ate. He laughed. The court laughed with him. Marcus did not laugh. He was the Inquisitor. His job was to find the rot. To cut it out. Before it spread. The King...

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