The Wistful Mirror
The rain did not fall so much as it was exhaled by the sky, a thick, gray mist that clung to the iron bars of the gate and turned the stone courtyard into a slick, treacherous mirror of the heavens above. Sergeant Major Elias Thorne stood in the center of this wet circle, his breath a ragged white ghost against the chill that had seeped through his uniform, a uniform that had once been crisp...
0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 2 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen