The Faded Dust

added blog Literature

2026-08-22 06:30:55 -

The Faded Dust

"You look pale, Thomas." I wiped my hand on my tunic. The cloth was stained with ink. And dirt. And blood, perhaps. Or just rust. The wind howled outside. It tore at the shutters. I did not answer. I could not. My voice was a stone in my throat. "Is it the fever?" he asked. "No." He stepped closer. He smelled of lavender. And fear. "Then what?" I looked at him. Really looked. He was not a...

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