The Distant Promise
The iron gate groaned, a low, metallic moan that seemed to rise from the very earth, and Thomas Ashworth stepped into the courtyard of Blackwood Manor with the heavy, dragging cadence of a man who had forgotten how to walk with purpose. The air here was thick, tasting of wet stone and old, decaying leaves, a scent that clung to his clothes and burrowed into the pores of his skin. He was a man...
0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 2 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen