The Faded Guest

added blog Literature

2026-08-25 19:33:48 -

The Faded Guest

The parchment lay flat on the oak table, cold as a winter grave. You picked up the quill. The ink was black, thick, and smelled of old bones. You dipped the nib. The first letter you wrote, a simple *A*, bit into your wrist. It did not hurt at first. It tickled. Then it burned. The mark was red, sharp, and exactly the shape of the letter on the page. You looked at your hand. You looked at the...

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