The Pale Door
The gilded mirror on the east wall of the archive room does not lie, yet it feels like it is lying to you. You are thirty-two, Elara Vane, and the woman staring back at you from the polished silver has the hollow cheeks of a forty-year-old. You have been cataloging the royal lineage for the past decade, a task that demands a steady hand and a silent tongue, but today the ink on your fingers...
0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews