Mirella had run the halls, feeling as though she owned everything in sight.
Category: This Textured Darkness
This Textured Darkness, #53
“Ah, the little Shivelite girl,’ Lord Birknell sounded sympathetic while peering down her bodice. “May I be of assistance?”
This Textured Darkness, #51
Fresco’s eyes, described by the poet’s as limpid pools, were now surprisingly alert.
This Textured Darkness, #50
“No wonder the skinny chit remembered him,” remarked a raven haired beauty. “Did you notice his codpiece?
This Textured Darkness, #49
The crowd was a river of confusion, pushing Mirella where she didn’t want to go.
This Textured Darkness, #30
Until three days ago,” Milo pointed to the skull, “This was a man we called the Poet.”
This Textured Darkness, #29
Milo Janken, or Milo the Lantern as he was called in Marsh Wool, stood before the throne, trying not to soil his breeches.
