The Wistful Throne
The rain had been falling for three days when you arrived at the gate. It was a low, gray drizzle that did not wash the world clean but merely made the dust slick and heavy, turning the road into a river of brown sludge. You carried no luggage, only the small, iron-bound case that held your instruments and the heavy wool coat that smelled of smoke and old paper. The estate of Julian Vane stood...
0 Comments 0 Shares 3 Views 0 Reviews