The Pale Path
The parchment was not merely a document but a living thing, breathing with the faint, dry rustle of centuries, and it lay upon the black oak table like a pale, limp skin that had been peeled from a body long since forgotten, while the candlelight flickered in the drafty tower room, casting long, trembling shadows that danced across the walls as if the very stones of the keep were trying to...
0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews