The Wistful Dinner
The iron key was heavy in your palm, a dense weight of cold metal that felt less like an object and more like a solidified piece of gravity. You stood in the center of the Great Hall, a space that had once been designed for the feasting of kings but now served as the silent, damp cathedral for the remnants of a fractured order. The air tasted of wet stone and old smoke, a metallic tang that...
0 Σχόλια 0 Μοιράστηκε 1 Views 0 Προεπισκόπηση