The Pale Shadows
The rain does not fall so much as it strikes, a relentless, gray hammering against the leaded glass of the high windows in the chapel of St. Jude, a place that has forgotten how to pray but not how to rot. You are standing in the nave, your boots heavy with the mud of the courtyard, your hand resting on the hilt of a sword that feels less like a weapon and more like a dead weight, a piece of...
0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews