The Wistful Petal

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2026-08-24 00:41:54 -

The Wistful Petal

"Is the ink dry yet, Elias?" The Abbot’s voice was not loud, but it cut through the humming of the scriptorium like a blade through wet cloth. Elias looked up from the vellum. His fingers were stained black to the knuckles, the pigment seeping into the whorls of his skin, a second layer of identity he could not scrub away. He had been at the Abbey of St. Jude for three days, seeking a quiet...

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