The Pale Garden

Ajouter une nouvelle offre d'emploi Literature

2026-08-18 12:13:55 -

The Pale Garden

The feast hall of Blackwood Keep did not smell of roasting meat, but of wet stone and old blood. It was a smell that clung to the hair and settled in the lungs, a physical weight that pressed against the ribs of every guest. In the center of the high table, Lord Aldric sat with his hands folded, his face a mask of pale, aristocratic boredom. To his right, the candlelight caught the gold leaf on...

0 Commentaires 0 Parts 1 Vue 0 Aperçu