The Pale Bridge
The fog in Oren did not rise from the earth; it fell from the sky like a heavy, wet wool, pressing against the windows of the Archivist’s tower until the glass groaned in its frame. Elias stood before the mirror, adjusting the cracked porcelain mask that covered the lower half of his face, the hairline fracture running from his left cheekbone to his chin a jagged scar of white against the pale...
0 Commentarii 0 Distribuiri 2 Views 0 previzualizare