The Faded Paradox
The black bird sat upon the tongue of the dead man. It was a raven, thick-necked and dull, picking at the soft meat with a beak that clicked against the jawbone. Thomas woke with a gasp, his breath hitching in the cold air of the scriptorium. The candle on his desk had burned to a stub, the wax pooled like white blood. On the parchment before him lay a small glass vial, stoppered with cork. It...
0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews