Faded Ink Novels & Stories

Zach stumbled and collapsed to the ground, then suddenly crawled over to my feet. “Coco, I’m sorry! It’s all my fault! Hit me, yell at me, do whatever you want, just don’t leave me, okay? “I know you’re mad at me, and that’s why you even walked away from the company we built together. Tell me what you want me to do. I’ll do anything. Just give me one more chance! “I already contacted the wedding planner. We’ve redesigned everything into a grand ceremony and included all your favorites. Come back with me and we’ll get married right away. Please!”

"Look closer. At the ink." Aria studies the signature under the glass. Her breath catches. "The color," she whispers. "It's slightly different from the rest of the document." "Very good." I feel like a teacher watching a prize student solve a complex problem. "The document is dated six months ago. But that ink? It's fresh. Three, maybe four days old at most." "How can you tell?" "The way it sits on the paper. Fresh ink has a slight sheen to it, even after it dries. It fades over time, becomes matte. This hasn't had time to fully set."

PURITY •••••••••• My finger brushes over that faded red dot for the umpteenth time, this very minute stain capturing my attention more than it should. The note is small and rectangular, torn from something bigger, with rough yet designated edges, like it was ripped with purpose. It has a certain brown shade to it, giving it an aged feel, but that only makes it perfect. That faded dot sits just beneath the last line, not quite a fingerprint, not quite a smear, only a dot. Dried and old. Once again, I tell myself it's just ink. Nothing more.

Just perfect as she thought. “Nice meeting you, sir. You can notify Lora if you have removed that part and we’ll arrange some time for that,” said she. Author's Note: Hello, I hope you enjoyed the story. Trace of Ink is about to end and I would love to hear your insights and critics. Please drop a comment, that would be much appreciated. Thank you :)

I pinched the bridge of my nose as Nymeria finally came inside along with a few servants who cleaned the mess. “You did not have to come all the way to the palace, I would have come there myself instead. Less wastage of ink and time” I said as Nymeria dusted her dress and dabbed at a few blotches of ink that stained her dress red. To say that it was ink was an understatement but well I was not interested to get into the technicalities. Nymeria only raised an eyebrow when I referred to it as ink but did not comment. “The markings had begun to fade and you showed no signs of getting it redone. What else was I supposed to do?”

He paused then continued," Wait, I am thinking of something." "What is it," Zeres said, with his eyes still fixed on the piece of paper as if he was trying his luck to see if he could read something which was not there. "Stop looking at the paper buddy, the words you are searching for aren't there.' Zeres smiled," wait, do you mean they used evaporating ink," he asked. Kenny nodded his head in response. The two had been in the underworld for many years and they knew most of the methods used there. The evaporating ink pens were used to sign fake bank cheques and the ink would disappear after a certain time, leaving the cheque blank, hence invalid.

As if some indelible dye had seeped outward from the marrow of his bones. Iron salts and oak gall. The formula for Old Formula Ink. He had used this ink to write the Codex for two hundred years. The ink had seeped into every furrow of his fingerprints. Then been ground down by the ages into a shell that could not be peeled away. Those brown fingers gripped an unlit candle. The wick was newly trimmed. The white wax was newly poured. But the body of the candle was only half of what it had been. He had waited behind this door for too long. The candle had burned down to its end. He had replaced it with a new one. Had not yet had time to light it.

The ink clings to the quill, its viscosity carefully crafted to prevent dispersal in the water. Turning his attention to the kelp paper in front of him, Bryan observes the faint shimmer on its surface. The kelp fibers have been infused with a unique hardening agent, a secret formula known only to the skilled artisans of Tritania. The agent causes the ink to react, triggering a chemical transformation that solidifies the liquid, ensuring that the words he pens will remain intact and readable.

The old book's pages were worn and tattered, the ink faded with age yet still legible to those who knew where to look. As I turned another page, a faint musty odor rose from the parchment. The ancient book felt heavy in my hands as I studied its worn cover. With it, I saw a note, camouflaged between two pages that were colored exactly the same as the book's pages. The words swam before my weary eyes, yet I strained to make them out. The scrawled handwriting was barely legible, the ink faded with age. But the message was clear: secrets lay within these brittle pages, secrets someone had wanted kept hidden for centuries.

“Look at the ink.” At first I don’t see anything. But then, I notice the difference. The earlier entries sit lightly on the page, the ink slightly faded, the lines thin where the pen lifted between strokes. The later ones look darker, heavier. Pressed harder into the paper. “Different pressure,” Elias murmurs. Kaia nods faintly. “And newer ink.” Gran shakes her head weakly, “that doesn’t mean—” “It means the entries weren’t written at the same time,” Kaia finishes quickly.