The Wistful Silence
The list was short, written in a hand that trembled only slightly, and it sat on the obsidian workbench like a verdict. Elias read it three times, the ink blurring under the harsh gaslight, then folded the paper into his pocket. He was forty-two, the Court Archivist, and he had spent the last three years in the shadow of Clara’s death, a silence that had eaten the marrow of his ambition. The...
0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews