The Golden Oath
The fog in Oakhaven did not roll in; it seeped, a slow, grey infection that turned the cobblestones slick and the air thick with the scent of wet rot and old iron. Elian Ashworth, twelve years old and sharp-angled from a lack of proper meals, sat on the edge of his bed, his fingers tracing the cold, tarnished head of the key he had inherited from his brother, Thomas. The key was the only thing...
0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews