The Pale Letter

added blog Literature

2026-08-23 07:53:08 -

The Pale Letter

The Abbot’s voice cracked like a dry branch in the dark. "Ewan. Ewan, you are bleeding." I looked down at my hand. It was slick with red, but it was not my blood. It was the ink. The black fluid from the well had seeped into the pores of my skin, tracing the veins in my wrist, turning the flesh a bruised purple. I am thirty-two years old. I have served in the high tower for nine years. My...

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