The Faded Quadrant
The silence in the village of Oakhaven was not empty; it was heavy, like the air before a storm breaks, thick with the scent of wet stone and rotting leaves. Alderman Silas Thorne sat alone in his study, the fire dying in the grate, casting long, trembling shadows against the walls. He was a man of eighty winters, his face a map of deep creases and faded scars, his eyes once sharp as a hawk’s...
0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 2 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen