The Wistful Throne
The rain fell in steady, gray sheets against the high windows of the Hall. It was a sound like static, a low hum that filled the empty corridors. Commander Elias Thorne stood by the fireplace. He did not light the fire. The heat would be wasted. He held a glass of amber liquid in his right hand. The glass was heavy. It was crystal. It was old. The liquid inside was clear. It was not wine. It...
0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 1 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen