The Pale Tower
The wine is red as a fresh wound and the smell of it, mixed with the damp wool of your coat and the heavy, cloying scent of lilies in the vase, makes your head spin in a way that has nothing to do with the alcohol. You are standing at the head of the long mahogany table, the one that stretches back through the generations of the Harrow family, and you are watching them. They are eating. They...
0 Yorumlar 0 hisse senetleri 2 Views 0 önizleme