The Pale Tower
The ledger lay open on the oak desk, its pages thin as onion skin, smelling of dry rot and old ink. Elias Ashworth ran his finger down the column of debts, the numbers blurring slightly in the dim light of the scribe’s office. He needed this entry signed. He needed the High Warden’s seal on the final page to clear his mother’s name, to wipe away the stain of the unpaid tithes that had clung to...
0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 1 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen