The Golden Suspect
The loaf sat on the oak desk, its crust a pale, impossible gold that seemed to hold the candlelight rather than reflect it. You are Elias, a warden of the Blackgate keep, and your hands shake as you reach for the bread, the tremor not born of the cold that seeps through the stone floor but of the hollow, gnawing ache in your gut that has defined the last three years. You have not eaten a full...
0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews