An amply dry and cracked piece of parchment dangles from the board by a single tack that has a spiderweb of cracks surrounding it, smeared across the parchment is one word...
The lady ponders, her beautiful features marred with concern...She replies, not on parchment, but on a scrap of silvery silk, the ink soaking into the fibres.
A figure heavily cloaked passes by the boards. He pauses only briefly and reaches out, resting the very tips of pale fingers against the scrap of silk before he turns and fades into the crowd.
An amply dry and cracked piece of parchment dangles from the board by a single tack that has a spiderweb of cracks surrounding it, smeared across the parchment are a few words...
As the wind is unseen, so am I. A grain of sand in the vast desert. I shall continue to walk as a mirage in this desert that is my existance.
