The Distant Threshold
The King’s voice was not loud, but it carried the weight of stone. "You have poisoned my son." Elias stood before the throne, his hands trembling so violently that the glass vial in his grip rattled against the rim of the silver tray. He was forty years old, a man who had spent two decades distilling mercury and grinding antimony in the damp cellar beneath the castle. His knees felt hollow, a...
0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 1 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen