The Faded Apartment
The parchment is warm. That is the first thing you notice, not the smell of the dust, or the way the light from the single oil lamp catches the edge of the desk, but the heat radiating from the skin of the page, a living warmth that presses against your fingertips like a fevered brow. You are Elias Thorne, forty-two years old, and for the last twenty years you have been the scribe of Alder...
0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews