The Faded Masquerade
It was not the light that woke him, but the sound of the floorboards settling in the attic, a groan that echoed down through the plaster and into his sleeping mind. Elias Thorne lay still, his eyes open to the dark ceiling, listening to the house breathe. The dream had been the same as it was every Tuesday, a recurring nightmare of the manor’s foundations crumbling, the mist thick enough to...
0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 1 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen