The Faded Bouquet

agregó una foto Literature

2026-08-18 06:45:11 -

The Faded Bouquet

The rain fell on the grey slate of Dunmore Keep, a relentless, cold sheet that blurred the line between the living and the dead. I stood at the threshold, my hand resting on the pommel of my sword, the iron cold against my palm. The air smelled of wet stone and ancient rot, a scent that had permeated my skin since the day I took the oath. My wife, Elara, was gone. Not dead, not yet. But...

0 Commentarios 0 Acciones 7 Views 0 Vista previa