The Wistful Show

added blog Literature

2026-08-22 12:36:15 -

The Wistful Show

The ink is cold. It is not the cold of winter water, but the cold of a grave. My fingers tremble as they hold the quill, a fine nib of steel that scratches against the parchment like a rat gnawing through a wall. I am twelve years old. My name is Elias. I am the apprentice to Lord Vane, the Royal Scribe, and I am dying. The Rot eats me. It starts at the tips of my fingers, a blackening that...

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