The Faded Portrait
The rain fell on the tower of Blackreach like a funeral shroud, drumming against the stone until the rhythm became indistinguishable from Elias Thorne’s own heartbeat. He stood alone in the high watchroom, his hand resting on the pommel of his sword, staring out at the city where the shadows moved with a terrible, independent life. The shadows of the streetlamps stretched and twisted,...
0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 1 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen