The Faded Alibi
The rain on the slate roof of the manor house did not fall; it hammered, a relentless, rhythmic drumming that shook the very marrow of your bones and forced you to stand in the center of the great hall, where the tapestries, faded by centuries of dust and candlelight, seemed to breathe with a slow, spectral sigh. You are the daughter of the Lord of the House, a title that once meant the power...
0 Comments 0 Shares 3 Views 0 Reviews