The Golden Oath
The needle slid through the weave with a soft, wet snap, pulling the thread taut against the tension of the loom. Elara’s fingers were stained gold to the knuckles, the pigment seeping into the whorls of her skin as if the fabric were trying to become part of her. Outside, the valley of Oria held its breath, the mist pressing against the cottage windows like a pale, hungry animal. She was...
0 Commentarii 0 Distribuiri 4 Views 0 previzualizare