The Pale Tale
The air in the ballroom of the Harrow House was thick with the scent of decaying lilies and the metallic tang of stale champagne, a suffocating atmosphere that pressed against the eardrums like a physical weight, while the guests moved in a choreographed dance of polite detachment, their laughter sounding hollow and brittle, like the cracking of dry ice in a vacuum. Elias Thorne stood near the...
0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 7 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen