The Wistful Skyline
The soot of 1893 hung over the valley like a wet wool blanket, choking the light that filtered through the grimy windows of Blackwood Manor. Twelve-year-old Elias Thorne stood in the scullery, his fingers trembling not from the cold, but from the terrible, pulsing heat of the object hidden in his pocket. It was a porcelain locket, shattered into three jagged pieces, the only thing his mother...
0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews