The Wistful Voyage

added blog Literature

2026-08-21 10:30:57 -

The ink was black. It spilled from the well. Not from the quill. From the stone. Margaret Holloway stood in the center of the scriptorium. Her hands were stained. Deep, violet-black. The air smelled of iron and old parchment. Outside, the wind howled against the stone walls. Inside, silence held its breath. Brother Thomas watched from the shadows. He did not move. His eyes were closed. The...

0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews