The Pale Tower
The iron seal on the parchment was black and cold to the touch, a heavy disc of wax that bore the impression of a broken crown. Edward Ashworth sat in the high-backed chair of his study, the candlelight flickering against the stone walls of the tower, casting long, trembling shadows that seemed to breathe in the drafty silence. He was a man of few words, his face a landscape of hard planes and...
0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews