The Distant Ghost
The iron chest sits in the center of the room, immovable as a tombstone, its surface etched with a pattern of thorns that seem to bleed rust into the polished oak floor. You have sat before it for three days, your spine curved like a question mark, your eyes fixed on the cold steel door. It does not open. It has not opened for forty years, not since the day the High Chancellor signed the order...
0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews