The Parasite of Love
The manor of Blackwood sat atop a jagged cliff in the Scottish Highlands, a gothic monolith of grey stone and weeping ivy. Inside, the air was perpetually cold, smelling of old parchment and the metallic tang of something that had long since died. Alistair moved through the corridors like a shadow, his long, pale fingers tracing the carvings on the walls with a feverish intensity. Eliza sat in...
0 Σχόλια 0 Μοιράστηκε 7 Views 0 Προεπισκόπηση