The Faded Quadrant

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2026-08-21 15:43:31 -

The ink dries. The paper waits. I am the scribe. I am the silence. The bell tolls. I sit in the scriptorium. The candles gutter. The wind howls. It seeks the door. I do not look up. My hand moves. The quill scratches. It is a sound like a mouse. It is a sound like a bone. Master Aldric is gone. He left at dawn. He took his robes. He took his seal. He left me the key. He left me the work. He did...

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