The Faded Frontier
The rain did not fall so much as it was pressed down, a thick, grey wool blanket suffocating the valley of Oakhaven. Inside the glasshouse, the air was so hot it felt like swallowing a stone. Elara wiped the condensation from the pane with a rag that had long since turned to grey pulp. Her hands, red and swollen from the lye, trembled not from cold but from a vibration that seemed to come from...
0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 2 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen