The Golden Farce
Your hands are steady. This is what they trained you for. The sword is an extension of your will. The steel is cold against your palm, slick with the sweat of your fear, but the grip is firm. You do not tremble. You must not tremble. The wall of the keep rises before you, white stone veined with grey lichen, like the bone of some ancient, sleeping beast. Above, the gate is barred. Below, the...
0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 2 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen