The Wistful Letter
The iron door groaned, a low, mournful shriek that seemed to tear at the silence of the tower, and I stood there, my hand resting on the cold steel, listening to the wind howl outside like a living thing. It was a sound I had known for twenty years, a constant companion in my life of service and solitude. I am not a man of words, nor of high learning, but I was a man of the law, a knight of the...
0 Комментарии 0 Поделились 5 Просмотры 0 предпросмотр