The Iron Crown of Dendral
I awoke to the sound of rain against the windowpane and the smell of beeswax and old wood. The bed beneath me was vast—a four-poster of dark oak carved with lions and roses, its curtains drawn like the walls of a tomb. I reached up to touch the ceiling and found not the plaster of my apartment in Edinburgh, but a vaulted ceiling painted with frescoes of angels and emperors. My head throbbed. I...
0 Σχόλια 0 Μοιράστηκε 5 Views 0 Προεπισκόπηση