The Distant Wound
The Great Hall of the Citadel of Iron and Oak had not known a sound louder than a whisper for forty years, a silence so profound and calcified that it felt less like the absence of noise and more like a physical substance, a heavy, grey dust that settled in the lungs of every soul who dared to cross its threshold, where the air smelled of cold stone, dried lavender, and the metallic tang of...
0 Commenti 0 condivisioni 1 Views 0 Anteprima