The Pale Dance
The thread pulls tight, a thin silver vein against the dark wool of the tapestry. You hold your breath, the needle trembling in your fingers, the cold of the vault seeping into your bones. It is the only sound in the world, the scratch of fiber against fiber, the whisper of your mother’s voice rising from the weave. You are Elara, twenty-two, a junior archivist in the court of Valerius, and you...
0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 1 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen