The Distant Temple
The seal was a thing of iron. It sat on the table. It was black. It was cold. It was heavy. Thomas held it in his hand. His fingers trembled. He was seven. He was small. He was alone. The room was dark. The air was still. He looked at the seal. It was a circle. It had a face. The face was smooth. The face was blank. It was not a face. It was a mark. It was a brand. It was a promise. Thomas knew...
0 Комментарии 0 Поделились 2 Просмотры 0 предпросмотр