The Wistful Saga
Recep Demir wanted the ink to dry before the fog took the cellar. He stood in the damp dark, the smell of wet wool and old paper thick in his throat, and watched the candle flame gutter against the stone. The Guild Master had dismissed him an hour ago, but the fear did not leave with the footsteps. It settled in Recep’s hands, a cold weight that made his fingers tremble over the ledger. He...
0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews