The Golden Scar
The orchid bloomed in the blood of Elara’s chest. Kaelen stood in the grey light of the morning, his hands trembling not from cold, but from the terrible, golden weight of the pot he held. It was a vessel of black iron, unyielding and cold, cradling the roots that had pierced through his sister’s ribs. She had been dead for three days. The Inquisitor had arrived before the sun, his boots...
0 Commenti 0 condivisioni 1 Views 0 Anteprima