The Golden Master
The feast was a lie of smoke and salt. We gathered in the great hall of the Guild, the air thick with the smell of roasted goose and the damp wool of two hundred apprentices. I sat at the far end, my hands folded over the rough hem of my tunic, watching the candlelight dance across the stone walls. They called it the Festival of the Golden Master, a celebration of the one who had perfected the...
0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 17 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen