The Wistful Silence
The feast in the Hall of Whispers was a spectacle of gold and silence, where the candles burned low against the encroaching dark and the air tasted of stale wine and old blood. Magistrate Elias Thorne sat at the far end of the long oak table, his hands trembling slightly as he polished the rim of his goblet, a ritual of control that had become his only anchor in the last three months. He...
0 Commentaires 0 Parts 2 Vue 0 Aperçu