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It was finished.
After years of toil, of making sure every part was perfect and whole – his opus was complete.
A moment of indiscretion had led Taltus to his doom but also to his supreme achievement. Here, in this five by five cell, the greatest written masterpiece of his generation had been born and refined to perfection.
Yet no one would hear or read it. It would die in this dismal place with him.
He stared at the blank walls surrounding him, fighting welling despair. Yet as he stared, their very essence changed in his mind, sparking hope.
The walls would be his parchment. Blood his ink.
His story would be told.
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