The Pale Exile
The iron seal on the letter had not yet fully cooled when I broke it, the wax crumbling beneath my thumbnail like the brittle skin of a dying winter. It was a simple thing, a circle of black lead pressed into red, but it carried the weight of the entire house, the silence of the corridor, and the hollow ache in my chest that had begun to throb in time with the clock in the hall. I had been a...
0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews