The Pale Dance
The chandeliers in the regimental hall of Blackwood Barracks hummed with a low, electric vibration that seemed to settle in Elias Thorne’s chest, a physical weight that pressed against his ribs with every irregular thud of his heart. He stood by the punch bowl, his hands rigid at his sides, watching the couples swirl across the polished floor in a blur of silk and brass buttons, while the...
0 Commenti 0 condivisioni 2 Views 0 Anteprima