The Pale Tale
The gate was locked, and the stone beneath Sir Elias Thorne’s boots was cracked, a jagged scar running from the threshold to the moor. He stood in the rain, his forty years of service etched into the lines of his face, and he did not move. The air hummed, a low vibration that rattled his teeth and settled in the marrow of his bones. "Open the door," he said. His voice was flat, stripped of its...
0 Commenti 0 condivisioni 1 Views 0 Anteprima