The Pale Door
The train cut through the grey morning like a blade through wet wool, carrying Elias Vane deeper into the industrial sprawl of the Northern Counties. He sat in a compartment that smelled of coal smoke and damp wool, his knees pressed against the opposite seat, his hands wrapped around a tin container that had once been bright blue but was now rusted to the color of dried blood. Inside the tin...
0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 3 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen