The Pale Meridian
The mortar was heavy, a solid block of green stone that had outlasted three generations of Thornes, and Elias held it with a grip that had long since lost its voluntary quality, the weight of it settling into the ulna of his forearm as if it were part of his own skeleton. He crushed the wormwood, the bitter green leaves yielding to the pestle with a sound like dry bones snapping, the scent...
0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews