The Faded Portrait
You stand at the threshold of the great hall, the air thick with the scent of damp wool and old paper, and you tell yourself that you have come for the books, for the rare editions of Whitmore and Ashworth that the university library failed to acquire, but you know, with a quiet and terrible certainty that sits in the pit of your stomach like a stone, that you have come for the silence that has...
0 التعليقات 0 المشاركات 1 مشاهدة 0 معاينة