The Pale Fracture
The air in the Great Hall of Aethelgard was thick enough to chew, heavy with the scent of roasted venison, spilled wine, and the damp, metallic tang of fear that seemed to seep from the very stones of the fortress, a place where the boundary between the natural world and the supernatural had long since dissolved into a gray, trembling mist that clung to the skin like a second, colder layer of...
0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews