The Pale Banner
The brass key was cold in Elias’s palm, heavy with a specific, oily weight that had nothing to do with the metal. He turned it in the lock of the east wing door, the sound sharp and final in the hollow silence of the corridor. Outside, the city hummed its low, electric thrum, a constant vibration that usually settled in his teeth, but tonight it felt distant, muffled by the thick stone of St....
0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 1 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen