The Faded Chronicle
The coat was still warm when he hung it on the hook, a faint, metallic heat that smelled of old blood and rain. It was a heavy thing, wool so thick it seemed to have grown its own gravity, its color a deep, bruised purple that had faded to the grey of a storm cloud after years of wear. Elias Thorne looked at it for a long time, his hands trembling not from the cold, but from the sheer weight of...
0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 2 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen