The Wistful Mirror
The ledger said four hundred and twelve hours until the King’s coronation. I had spent three of them already, just standing in the center of the Grand Hall, listening to the wind rattle the temporary shutters against the stone. The air smelled of wet chalk and old iron, a sharp, metallic scent that coated the back of my throat. My hands were steady, or they appeared to be. Inside, they trembled...
0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 2 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen