The Wistful Mirror
The castle of Aethelgard did not stand so much as it hovered, a colossal architecture of black basalt and weeping willow roots suspended above the churning grey foam of the North Sea, a monument to a kingdom that had forgotten its own name and decided instead to forget its own soul. In the high tower where the air tasted of iron and old parchment, Elara sat before the Mirror of Verities, a slab...
0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 4 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen