The Golden Master
The air in the Hall of Whispers tasted of stale copper and old rain, a flavor that had settled into the very stones of the ancient citadel, clinging to the velvet drapes and the polished obsidian floor with a persistence that felt less like atmosphere and more like a physical weight pressing against the lungs. Sir Julian Thorne stood alone in the center of this cavernous space, his back...
0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 1 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen