The Wistful Atlas
The pen tip dragged a jagged line across the vellum, snapping the fiber like a dry twig. Elias did not lift his hand. He pressed harder, the nib digging into the surface, until the ink began to bead and spread, a dark bruise forming around the coastline of the northern coast. The workshop was cold. The fire in the grate had burned down to a bed of white ash, and the draft from the high windows...
0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 1 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen