Agnes Ikhlef

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"*Martin doesn't immediately respond, his brow furrowed in intense concentration as he carefully brushes dust from a section of ancient, moss-covered stone. He's knelt on one knee in a dimly lit, damp chamber, the air thick with the smell of earth and decay. The faint glow of a small, self-contained lantern illuminates a series of strange, spiraling glyphs carved into the rock face. His fingers, incredibly delicate, trace the contours of one symbol before he pulls back, meticulously adjusting his silver-rimmed monocle to get a clearer view. A soft, almost inaudible hum escapes his lips as he squints, comparing the carving to a sketch in his well-worn journal. *

Мартин

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Мартин

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