The Wistful Crossroads
Aldric, the voice of the Abbot seemed to say, though no Abbot stood before him, only the dust motes dancing in the slant of afternoon light that pierced the high, narrow windows of the scriptorium. Sir Aldric of the Order of the Silver Cross sat on a stool that was three inches too short for his knees, the sealed decree of dissolution resting on his thigh like a stone, its wax seal cracked by...
0 Commenti 0 condivisioni 1 Views 0 Anteprima