The Distant Crown
The hall burned with candlelight. Gold leaf flaked from the ceiling. It rained like dust. Thomas Ashworth stood by the pillar. His hand rested on the hilt of his sword. The metal was cold. His heart was not. He had been silent for three days. The feast was loud. Laughter crashed against the walls. Wine spilled over the table. It looked like blood. Or maybe it was. The King sat on the throne. He...
0 Σχόλια 0 Μοιράστηκε 1 Views 0 Προεπισκόπηση