The Distant Temple
The ink on the ledger was still wet, glistening under the gaslight as you pressed the nib down, the scratch of the quill a dry, rhythmic sound in the silence of the archive. You were forty-two, Elias, and your hands were steady, though your chest felt tight with a pressure that had nothing to do with the cold draft leaking under the door. The thesis on the Temple of Silence lay in your satchel,...
0 Commenti 0 condivisioni 1 Views 0 Anteprima