The Golden Scar
The rain had stopped, but the air in the Hall of Records still held the damp, metallic taste of the storm, a heaviness that settled in the lungs like lead shot. I stood before the high mahogany desk of Director Aldous Thorne, my uniform immaculate, the brass buttons polished until they reflected the dim, amber light of the gas lamps. My hands were clasped behind my back, a posture of rigid...
0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 21 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen