The Golden Harbor
The salt air tasted of iron and old blood, a metallic tang that coated the back of my throat even before the gates of the Spire opened to admit us, the condemned and the curious alike, into the hollow heart of the structure where the light did not behave as it should in the rest of the world, for here, within the obsidian walls of the Aethelgard Penitentiary, the sun was a trapped thing, a...
0 Commenti 0 condivisioni 2 Views 0 Anteprima