🗡 THE LAST PAGE — Journal of Sir Wren Hollowbone
Transcribed from bone-dry parchment, half-eaten by time and rot
I dream no more. Not of kingdoms nor crowns.
Not of her laugh echoing down torchlit halls.
The world above has long since turned its back,
and here — in this stone coffin of memory — I rot without decay.
I was never her suitor, never her shield.
Only a watcher. A quiet guardian at the edge of her sunbeam.
She never knew how close the wolves came.
She never knew how many I buried in silence.
She belonged to laughter and light.
I belonged to shadow and stone.
I was no white knight. Just bone and steel with soft thoughts.
A rusted gate between her heart and ruin.
And now…
The echoes have gone still.
No footsteps above. No cries below.
Only the drip, drip, drip… of time chewing through my shame.
If any soul finds this page, know this:
I loved her as a soldier loves the dawn.
Not to chase…
But to protect from the night.
— Sir Hollowbone, 7th of the Dustbound Order
Last breath taken: Forgotten. Last oath broken: None.
