The Distant Promise
The ink was black, not merely dark, but a void that seemed to pull the light from the air around the nib. Elias Thorne held the quill with a grip so tight his knuckles whitened, the parchment slick under his thumb, as he stared at the ledger that lay open on the desk before him. It was 1893, a year of coal dust and creeping fog in the valley, and Elias, an archivist of forty years, sought to...
0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 1 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen