The Golden Ritual
Elias. The name was not spoken by a living voice, but it struck him with the sharp, bureaucratic clarity of a summons, pulling him from the deep, cold water of sleep. He lay rigid in the straw of his cell, the dampness of the stone seeping through the thin wool of his habit, and he knew, with a certainty that bypassed reason, that Thomas was there. His brother stood at the foot of the narrow...
0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews