The Distant Nightmare

added blog Literature

2026-08-18 02:34:42 -

The stone was cold against Maren’s cheek. It smelled of wet iron and old blood. She pressed her forehead into the flagstones of the crypt, her breath coming in ragged, shallow hitches. Above her, the sound of boots on marble was heavy, rhythmic, and merciless. "Get up, witch," a voice said. It was rough, scraped raw by smoke and fear. Maren did not move. She was tired. The magic in her bones...

0 Comments 0 Shares 10 Views 0 Reviews