The Golden Oath
The carriage wheels grind against the cobblestones, a rhythmic, jagged sound that vibrates up through the soles of your boots and settles deep in your marrow. You are not looking at the castle ahead, though it looms in the fog like a bruise against the gray sky. You are looking at your hands. They are trembling, not from the cold, but from the sheer, terrifying weight of the object resting in...
0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 9 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen