The Pale Fracture
The ink was thick, clogging the nib of the quill until it felt like a splinter of lead pressed against the parchment, and I watched the black smear spread across the date, the winter of 1342, as if the page itself were bruising under the weight of what I was about to confess. My hands, which had copied the Psalms for twenty years without a single slip, now shook with a tremor that made the...
0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews