The Golden Oath
The gold leaf sat on the tip of your tongue, cold and thin as a whisper of foil. It tasted of copper and old blood, a flavor that coated the back of your throat and refused to wash away. You pressed it against the roof of your mouth, feeling the metallic weight of your own deception settle into your jaw. Outside the window, the bells of Oria tolled the hour, a sound that vibrated through the...
0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 1 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen