The Pale Path
The dream began with the smell of wet wool and cold stone. Elara stood in a hallway that stretched longer than any corridor in the house, the floorboards groaning under a weight that did not exist. She was young in the dream, her hands smooth, her hair a dark cascade that caught the grey light filtering through high, barred windows. She was running. Not from a monster, nor from a man, but from...
0 Commenti 0 condivisioni 2 Views 0 Anteprima