The Pale Letter
The rain did not fall so much as it hovered, a suspended mist that clung to the stone walls of Blackwood Hall like the breath of the dead. Captain Elias Thorne stood at the threshold, his coat buttoned to the chin, his hand resting on the hilt of a sword he had not drawn in twenty years. He was leaving. Or rather, he was returning to the one place from which he could never truly depart. The...
0 Σχόλια 0 Μοιράστηκε 4 Views 0 Προεπισκόπηση