The Distant Crown
Silas. The name was not spoken, but the feeling of it was there, a cold hand on the back of your neck, pulling you from the dark where the crown lay in pieces. You woke with the taste of iron and old stone in your mouth, the morning light already thin and grey through the high, barred windows of your quarters in the Iron Guard barracks. It was the fourteenth of the month. You had sixteen days...
0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 1 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen