The Faded Masquerade
Act I Who pays for the truth when the ledger is written in blood? Ketil Gundersen stood in the fog, the humidity swelling the wood of the distillery door until the hinges screamed, a wet, groaning sound that matched the rhythm of the washboard beating next door. He held his father’s tarnished silver mask in one hand, the metal cold and gritty against his palm, and the brass surveyor’s compass...
0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 1 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen