The Wistful Throne
The air in Harrowgate tasted of coal dust and wet wool. It was a heavy, industrial smell that clung to the skin. The town was dying. The mills had long since closed, leaving behind hollow bones of brick. The people moved like ghosts through the fog. They did not speak much. They watched the river. The river was black. Elias Thorne stood in the center of the square. He was a professor of...
0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 1 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen