The Golden Ritual
The fog did not roll in so much as it materialized, a thick, grey wool that swallowed the spires of the Palace of the Silver Sun and reduced the world to a handful of wet stones and the smell of rotting lilies. Elias, whose hands were mapped with the blue veins of a man whose body was slowly betraying the mind that still demanded it serve, clutched the tarnished golden chalice against his...
0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 1 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen