The Wistful Grid
The iron bar was cold against my palm, slick with the condensation that gathered in the lower cells of Blackwood Keep, and I used it to pry the rusted hinge of my cell door, the metal groaning in a long, high-pitched shriek that echoed off the damp stone walls. I am Elias Thorne, Sergeant of the Fourth Border Company, and I have been confined here for nine days, waiting for the frost to set in...
0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 2 Visualizações 0 Anterior