The Pale Mist
The iron gates of Blackwood Keep were not merely closed; they were sealed with a finality that seemed to absorb the ambient light of the late afternoon, leaving the courtyard in a bruised twilight that settled deep into the stones, a darkness that clung to the mortar and the moss with the tenacity of old grief. Sir Alaric Thorne stood alone within this confined square, his back pressed against...
0 Commenti 0 condivisioni 2 Views 0 Anteprima