The Wistful Throne
The chair is not wood, Brother Elias. It is a trap." I did not look up from the velvet cushion I was scraping with the bone knife, the sound of the rasp against the fabric a dry, rhythmic hiss that filled the silent archive. "It is oak, Julian. And it is mine to clean, under the Abbot’s discretion for the restoration of the library." Julian stepped closer, his shadow falling long and thin...
0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews