The Wistful Saga

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2026-08-21 11:33:43 -

The Wistful Saga

The rain hit the glass like a thousand small fists. "Did you see the light?" I asked. Old Thomas didn't look up from his ledger. His pen scratched against the paper. A dry, rhythmic sound. Like bones grinding. "No, Mr. Hale," he said. "It was blue. Right above the east wing. Burning, but cold." He stopped writing. He lifted his glasses. His eyes were pale. Tired. "Blue is a trick of the mist,...

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