The Wistful Mountain
The bell of the Abbey of Saint Jude did not ring to mark the hour, but to mark the end of your breath, a low, mournful toll that seemed to rise from the earth itself rather than the tower, vibrating through the soles of your feet as you stood before the High Table where Lord Ashworth sat enthroned in his velvet, his face a mask of such serene, terrible indifference that it made the air in the...
0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews