The Faded Bouquet

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2026-08-24 13:31:08 -

The Faded Bouquet

The ink bled. It did not sit upon the parchment as a mark, but sank into the fiber like a bruise, spreading in thin, red veins that pulsed with a rhythm Elias could feel in his own teeth. He held the quill steady, his knuckles white, the smell of sulfur and damp wool thick in the air of the scriptorium. Outside, the wind howled against the stone walls of Blackwood Abbey, a sound like a thousand...

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