The Wistful Saga
The tea in the silver pot had gone cold, its surface a dull mirror reflecting the high, vaulted ceiling of the Ministry’s antechamber, where the dust motes danced in the shafts of afternoon light that pierced the heavy velvet curtains. Captain Elias Thorne sat rigid in the wingback chair, his uniform pressed to a shine that seemed almost aggressive in the dimness, his hands resting on his knees...
0 Commenti 0 condivisioni 31 Views 0 Anteprima