The Pale Circus
The rain fell on the manor like a shroud of gray wool, heavy and cold, pressing the earth into silence. Elara sat by the hearth, her fingers stained with the soot of the fire she had been tending for hours. The house was old, a stone beast with narrow windows and high ceilings, built in an age when walls were meant to keep out more than just the weather. It was a place of shadows and dust, of...
0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 33 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen