The Wistful Ashes
The ink did not merely stain the parchment; it seeped into the grain of the oak, turning the white surface a bruised and living violet, as if the words themselves were bleeding from the page into the bone of the desk. Elias Thorne sat in the high-backed chair, his fingers trembling not from the cold that crept through the stone walls of the University of St. Jude’s, but from the sudden, violent...
0 التعليقات 0 المشاركات 3 مشاهدة 0 معاينة