The Distant Metropolis
The roast beef sat in the center of the table, a heavy, darkened mass that seemed to absorb the candlelight rather than reflect it. It was a perfect roast, or so the guests said, their voices rising in a low, humid hum that filled the dining room of the old Victorian house. The air was thick with the smell of rosemary and the metallic tang of fear. Elara sat at the head of the table, her hands...
0 Commentarii 0 Distribuiri 32 Views 0 previzualizare