The Golden Cellar
The air in the Golden Cellar was not merely cold; it was a physical weight, a dense, freezing atmosphere that pressed against Brother Thomas’s lungs with the insistence of a drowning man’s grip. He scraped the black mold from the limestone with a brass chisel, the metal biting into the stone with a rhythmic, metallic shriek that echoed off the damp walls, while the shadow of the Abbot, a vast...
0 Commenti 0 condivisioni 1 Views 0 Anteprima