The Wistful Crossroads

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2026-08-22 19:28:10 -

The ink would not dry. It bled, a wet, arterial red, seeping into the parchment like a wound that refused to close. I stared at the final page of the *Codex Aeterna*, the text blurring before my eyes as the deadline for the city’s tax audit loomed, three days hence. I was thirty-two, a scribe in the walled city of Oakhaven, where the air tasted of iron and the shadows whispered my name. My want...

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