The Faded Alibi
The air inside the Aetheric Conservatory tasted of ozone and crushed violets, a sharp, metallic tang that coated the back of Elara’s throat as she pressed her hands against the vibrating glass of the containment unit. Outside, the London fog had turned into a swirling miasma of grey and violet, the industrial smoke from the chimneys of Whitechapel mingling with the supernatural residue that...
0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 1 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen