The Pale Echo
The nib of your quill scratches against the vellum, a dry, abrasive sound that seems too loud in the damp silence of the tower cell. You are transcribing the final confession of Julian, your brother, and the ink flows with a viscosity that suggests it is not merely pigment and gum, but something heavier, something that has settled in the veins of the parchment itself. The hour is late, the...
0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews