The Wistful Asylum

added blog Literature

2026-08-21 16:04:16 -

The ink was dry before I touched the parchment. I held the quill. My hand shook. The script glowed. It was a name. It was my name. It was not mine. The tower was cold. Stone bit my skin. I am the Archivist. I keep the records. I keep the silence. The High Inquisitor stood by the door. His shadow fell across me. He did not speak. He waited. I waited. The scroll was heavy. The paper smelled of...

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