The Wistful Mirror

a adăugat un sunet Literature

2026-08-19 19:53:26 -

The rain did not fall. It hung. A thick, grey mist clung to the cobblestones of Aethelgard. It smelled of wet iron and old bone. Elias stood alone. His cloak was heavy. Mud caked his boots. He held a lantern. The glass was cracked. The flame inside flickered, weak and blue. He was looking for something. Or someone. The city slept. The windows were dark. The streets were empty. Elias was a...

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