The Faded Root
The stone cracks. You hear it first. A dry snap. Like a knuckle popping in a silent room. Then the sound widens. A groan. Dust falls. You are standing in the center of the Hall of Whispers. The ceiling is high. Too high. It stretches up into a dark that feels heavy. It feels wet. The air is cold. It tastes of copper and old paper. You are not supposed to be here. The map says this place does...
0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 1 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen