The Distant Metropolis
The watchtower stood alone on the cliff edge, a square of pale stone rising from the grass like a broken tooth. It was not a ruin, nor was it a monument to anything in particular. It was simply there, waiting. For three hundred years, it had watched the sea. Now, it watched the man. Elias Thorne stood at the base of the structure, his hand resting on the cold, lichen-crusted masonry. He was a...
0 Commenti 0 condivisioni 5 Views 0 Anteprima