The Hollow Crown

Jaxon

The scent of stale whiskey and dried blood clung to my room like a curse. I lay sprawled on the wide leather couch near the window, staring blankly at the ceiling. Dust motes drifted through shafts of weak morning light slicing between the blackout curtains I hadn’t opened in days.

My beard had grown thick and untamed, dark bristles covering my jaw and throat, curling slightly at the ends. My brows had overgrown too, ...