The Golden Oath
The fog did not lift from the valley of St. Jude’s it merely thickened, coalescing into a tangible, grey wool that pressed against the windowpanes of the scriptorium with the weight of a shroud. Brother Thomas sat in the center of the room, his back against the cold stone wall, his hands trembling not from the chill, but from the terrible, vibrating hum that seemed to originate from the very...
0 Commentaires 0 Parts 2 Vue 0 Aperçu