by aaOscar21
The physician is dead. The silence left behind is deafening. As paranoia grips the elite Houses of Virell, the mask of the obedient scribe is entirely splitting open. Elias can no longer wash the ink from his skin, nor can he outrun the violence taking over his hands. Whenever the night falls, Silas claims his borrowed hands, sharpening a stringless violin bow into a blade of retribution. From the shattering glass of the mirror, the phantom Mirelle orchestrates the chaos, reminding them both: the dead don’t sing unless someone remembers the tune. The fracture is no longer a secret. Vengeance has two faces.
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