The Wistful Witness

added blog Literature

2026-08-23 15:15:31 -

The rain in Oakhaven did not fall; it hung in the air, a grey mist that tasted of iron and coal dust. Elara Vane stood before the oak door of the Magistrate’s office, her knuckles white against the brass handle. In her left hand, she held a sprig of yew, dry and brittle as bone, pulled from the fresh earth of her brother Thomas’s grave that morning. She was thirty years old, a clerk whose hands...

0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews