The Pale Tower
The ink was still wet on the final entry when the warmth began, a subtle heat that bloomed against the inside of my wrist, distinct and undeniable, like a coal wrapped in silk. I pulled my hand back from the ledger, the leather cover creaking in the dim light of the cellar, and looked at the silver cufflink resting on the table. It was a small thing, polished to a mirror shine, but it radiated...
0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 1 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen