The Wistful Witness
The iron cage hummed. It was a low, tooth-aching vibration that Elias Thorne felt in his molars before he heard it. He stood at the center of the Aetheric Tribunal, a man of thirty-two years, his shirt torn at the shoulder, his eyes red-rimmed from two days of sleepless terror. He wanted only to leave. He wanted to go to the small house on the edge of the city, where his sister Mara lay dying...
0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews