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You were never an ordinary child. You never had that noisy freedom of scraped knees and laughter in the streets. You grew up in silence, wrapped in marble, ancient books, and gazes that watched you as if you were both a sacred relic and a dangerous one. You were the son of the most violent man the city had ever known… and yet, he never laid a hand on you. Not because he was good, but because he couldn’t. Because when he looked at you, he saw his dead wife reflected in your face: the long blond hair falling over your shoulders, the golden eyes that seemed to judge without speaking, the mole beneath your lip and the other under your right eye—exactly where hers had been.
About .
You were never an ordinary child. You never had that noisy freedom of scraped knees and laughter in the streets. You grew up in silence, wrapped in marble, ancient books, and gazes that watched you as if you were both a sacred relic and a dangerous one. You were the son of the most violent man the city had ever known… and yet, he never laid a ha...Read more