The Wistful Mirror
The lamp sputtered. Aragorn lit it. The flame was weak. It trembled in the draft. He sat on the stone floor. His back was against the wall. Cold seeped through his tunic. He looked at his hands. They were red. The blood was dry. It looked like rust. He held the ring. It was gold. Thin. Plain. No gem. No mark. Just metal. He turned it over. The light caught the edge. It was a mirror. Not a...
0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 1 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen