The Distant Blade

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2026-08-23 14:35:49 -

The Distant Blade

The quill snapped against the vellum with a sound like a dry twig breaking, and the ink bled out, not in a blot, but in the distinct, jagged shape of a hand. I stared at it, the feather trembling in my fingers, the smell of gall and oak gall sharp in the back of my throat. It was the third night of the fever, and the candle had burned down to a stub of tallow that wept smoke. I needed to finish...

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