Return
…And then—the blood.
It began at His hem. A stain, spreading upward. Red, deep red, soaking through the white linen as if rising from within Him. His own blood. The blood of the covenant, the blood of the cross, now worn like a garment. It dripped from His sleeves, pooled at His feet, and still it came, until His vesture was crimson and terrible.
The Last Pilgrim
In a world where truth is negotiable and reality is whatever you can sell, Elias helped build an empire on lies. From his 93rd‑floor apartment, he controls narratives that shape what people believe.
Read (and listen) to the first chapter!
This is Me... Kinda
I’m not a smart man. At least, I’m not a man that has a degree in English or Literature. I did okay in English in High School and College but it wasn’t “my thing” like the other students that wrote poems all the time or had journals.
