The Dauntless Rook (§.07)

Continued from §.06. Luned Fey leaned back in the old wicker chair she'd stolen four weeks ago, lowering the paper to behold a lithe, pale man, garbed in a corvine coat, who sat across the charred table. He settled down into the chair and poured some of the coffee Fey had freshly brewed looking impossibly… Continue reading The Dauntless Rook (§.07)