mortal brethren

Still trying to resist the allure, Daniel’s dark eyes fixed on a book standing alone behind his desk, an outcast from its mortal brethren, shimmering unnaturally in the nocturnal gloom. “Five hundred times,” he mused as his feet slowly drifted off the well-trod path and toward the dark shelves. “At least five hundred times. This has to end.”

Lord Malinov, Flowers of Malinov

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About Lord Malinov

Lord Malinov, literary author, bon vivant, rogue romantic poet
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