The Golden Suspect
The oak doors of the manor, carved with the twisted roots of an ancient, nameless tree, stood ajar in the twilight, exhaling a breath of stale woodsmoke and the faint, metallic scent of dried blood that had long since settled into the very grain of the floorboards, a silent testament to the violence that had once thrummed through these halls before the silence took hold, a silence so profound...
0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 3 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen