The Golden Cellar
The air in the cellar was thick with the scent of wet stone and old blood. It tasted metallic, a sharp tang that coated the back of my throat. I adjusted the grip on my rifle, the wood warm against my palms. My name is Thomas Bradshaw, and for twenty years, I served the King’s justice with a silence that was my only virtue. Now, that silence was broken by the dripping water and the low,...
0 Commenti 0 condivisioni 3 Views 0 Anteprima