The Faded Root
The chisel hovered, a sliver of steel catching the grey light of the workshop, as Lord Malverne leaned over the workbench, his velvet doublet brushing the dust of the unfinished root. "It is not enough, Thorne," the lord said, his voice smooth as polished stone, lacking any of the roughness that might have suggested genuine disappointment. "You carve the shape of a man, but you have not carved...
0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews