The Wistful Mountain
The parchment lay flat on the oak desk, its edges curling slightly in the dry air, bearing the seal of Lord Vane and a debt of twelve shillings for ink and vellum that Elara had not yet paid. She smoothed the paper with a thumb that felt numb, the cold of the mountain seeping into her joints, and read the terms of her probation once more, the ink sharp and black as a bruise. Outside the window,...
0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews