The Golden Harbor
The fog did not merely settle upon the cliffs of Blackwood Point; it invaded them, a pale, wet shroud that erased the distinction between the jagged basalt and the churning grey sea below. Silas Vane stood at the edge of his property, watching the mist swallow the distant lighthouse, his breath hanging in the air as a ghost of his own exhalations. He was a man who dealt in light, or so he told...
0 Commentarii 0 Distribuiri 1 Views 0 previzualizare