The Faded Road
The rain had not stopped for three days, a grey curtain that turned the world outside the window of the manor house into a blur of mud and slate. You stand by the heavy oak table, your hands trembling not from cold, but from the vibration of the iron bars that had held you for twenty years. The air smells of damp wool, old varnish, and the distinct, sharp scent of the medicinal herbs drying in...
0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 2 Visualizações 0 Anterior