The Pale Shadows
You stand in the cold. The stone is slick. You are Elias Thorne. You are a clerk. You are also a ghost. Or so you believe. The office is vast. Candlelight flickers. Dust motes dance. The air smells of wax and old paper. You sit at a desk. Your hands shake. You hold a quill. The ink is black. The ink is dry. You cannot write. You are terrified. Not of death. Of judgment. A shadow falls across...
0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 2 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen