The Golden Oath
The fog tastes of copper. It sits on your tongue, thick and metallic, as you push through the market stalls in the Grey District. You are Elias Thorne, forty-two, an apothecary with debts that eat through the floorboards of your shop and the marrow of your bones. In your pocket, the ledger of your ruin is heavy, but it is not as heavy as the vial you seek. You need the Golden Oath. It is a...
0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 2 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen