The Distant Cartograph

added blog Literature

2026-08-21 19:45:04 -

The hall smells of roasting goose and wet wool. You sit at the far end of the long oak table. The wood is dark. It has seen many feasts. It has seen many men die. You do not look at it. You look at your hands. They are steady. They are clean. Across the room, the fire burns low. Sparks rise like red moths. They die on the rafters. Outside, the rain hammers the stone walls. The castle is old....

0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews