The Golden Oath
The fire started in the thatch. It spread fast. Dry straw. Old wood. The smell of smoke hit Thomas before the heat did. He woke coughing. His lungs burned. He was in the cellar. The vault was his prison. Iron bars. Thick stone. He had been here for three days. Or maybe four. Time was a blur in the dark. He did not count the hours. He only felt the cold. Above him, the roof cracked. A beam fell....
0 Σχόλια 0 Μοιράστηκε 1 Views 0 Προεπισκόπηση