Introspurt !!top!! | Crimson Keep

The crimson of the keep wasn't blood. It was iron oxide, old paint, sunset reflection. He had mythologized his own tyranny until the myth ate the man.

"Release them," he said.

Valerius turned. For one breath—one wild, spurting moment of interior truth—he saw himself as they must: a figure draped in carmine silks, face half-masked by a helm shaped like a snarling wolf, more symbol than soul. crimson keep introspurt

Behind him, a messenger cleared his throat. "My lord? The prisoners await your judgment." The crimson of the keep wasn't blood