The Wistful Throne

a adăugat un sunet Literature

2026-08-17 19:27:55 -

The feast is loud. Too loud. Candlelight shakes. Dust motes dance. You sit. You are still. The hall smells of roasting pork. And stale beer. And sweat. You are Sir Aldric. Or so they say. The name hangs heavy. Like wet wool. You look down. At your hands. They are rough. They are scarred. They are yours. But the gauntlets. The gauntlets are not yours. No. They are old. Bronze. Dented. They...

0 Commentarii 0 Distribuiri 1 Views 0 previzualizare