The Distant Journey

added blog Literature

2026-08-24 07:23:00 -

The ink was black, but it looked like blood in the dim light of the scriptorium. I held the quill with a grip that felt like strangulation. The parchment was cold under my fingertips, a surface that refused to yield to my tremors. I am Elias, thirty-two years old, and I have spent the last decade in this stone room, copying words I did not choose. My hands shake. They have always shaken, a...

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