The Faded Root
The debt is due at noon, Elias Thorne said, his voice flat and dry as the dust motes dancing in the slanted afternoon light, but the foundation under the parlor floor was already groaning, a low, tectonic rumble that vibrated through the soles of his boots and into the marrow of his shins. He stood in the center of the room, his hand resting on the cold, greasy surface of the oak table, feeling...
0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews