The Pale Circus
Thorne, you bloody fool, stand still or the fog will take your eyes before it takes your soul. The voice came from the left, low and grating, like a shovel dragged across wet gravel, and you froze in the mud of the Blackwood Valley where the ground was so slick with iron-rich silt that your boots sank to the ankle with every reluctant step. It was 1893, the year the world was holding its breath...
0 Commentarii 0 Distribuiri 1 Views 0 previzualizare