The Wistful Saga

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2026-08-24 18:32:52 -

The Wistful Saga

14th October, 1892. The yeast is dead. I say this to no one, for the cellar is empty save for the smell of sour milk and old rags. I have scrubbed the floor until my knuckles bleed, but the stain remains, a dark blotch near the door that smells of iron and decay. It is the smell of Arthur. He is gone. The village calls it a curse. I call it arsenic. The distinction matters to me, though I am no...

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