The Pale Exile
The first thing was the weight of the glass jar, which had grown lighter by three ounces since the last time I had lifted it to check the sediment. I weighed it against a standard brass measure, the kind used for flour, and the discrepancy was a small, cold fact that sat in my hand like a stone. Thomas had left that morning, his boots crunching on the frost-hardened earth, leaving behind a...
0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews