The Golden Suspect
The great glass ceiling of the Keep at Oakhaven shattered not with a crash, but with a sigh, a long, exhalatory groan of ancient silica giving way to the weight of the storm and the weight of history. Rain did not merely fall that night; it poured through the jagged mouth in the roof, soaking the stone floors, turning the dust of centuries into a slurry that smelled of wet iron and old decay....
0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 2 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen