Breeder or Mate: The Crimson Threshold
Some leaned in, intrigued, their expressions curious but others recoiled, clearly repulsed by the intensity and the rancid stench, hurrying past with averted gazes.
Above the narrow doorway, a crookedly nailed wooden sign read ‘Obsidian Mystique’ in jagged, uneven script, as if carved by an unsteady hand.
Perched precariously atop the sign was a grand, eerily realistic skull, meticulously carved from a single piece of dark, polished wood, its empty eye sockets seeming to follow every movement on the street. A chill traced its way down Lilias’s spine, prickling at the nape of her neck. Her gut, honed by years of her own craft and an innate sensitivity to magical energies, warned her instincti
Bab Populer