The Faded Chronicle
The bell in the tower of St. Jude’s did not ring. It hung there, a dark, swollen thing of bronze, its surface pitted by centuries of acid rain and the slow, grinding tooth of time. It was the only thing left that had not been burned, though the rest of the cathedral lay in a heap of blackened timber and shattered stone. I stood at the edge of the ruin, my boots sinking into the mud that had...
0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews