The Wistful Letter
The candlelight trembled against the high, vaulted ceiling of the banquet hall, casting long, shivering shadows that seemed to breathe. It was a feast for the dead, or so it felt to Elias Vane. The air was thick with the scent of roasted lamb, spiced wine, and the metallic tang of old blood that had long since soaked into the stone floor. He sat at the end of the long oak table, his hands...
0 Commenti 0 condivisioni 1 Views 0 Anteprima