The Pale Fracture
The blade bit into the obsidian counter, and Duarte Rebelo felt the cold shock travel up his forearm, a vibration that matched the frantic, arrhythmic pulse of the white orchid blooming in the executioner’s cell. He was the Sergeant of the Salt Gate, forty-seven of the registry, a man whose duty was to keep the ledger of souls balanced, yet here he stood, hands shaking, as the High Magistrate...
0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews