The Distant Threshold

ha aggiunto una foto Literature

2026-08-21 16:40:23 -

The rain did not fall; it hovered. It hung in the air above the manor like a veil of grey wool, damp and heavy, refusing to touch the earth. Inside the great hall, the air was still thick with the scent of wet stone and old wax. Alistair sat on the high-backed chair, his hands resting on the arms. They were steady. They were always steady. That was the burden of his station. To be unshaken was...

0 Commenti 0 condivisioni 1 Views 0 Anteprima