kaz ruby 𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅

5%
Flag icon
Thomas Walsh was none of those things. He was scarcely older than her, with a friendly face and a short crop of sandy blond hair and a left cheek that dimpled atrociously when he smiled. Pretty was the word that came to mind, which was the worst possible thing she could think of.
I Am Made of Death
Rate this book
Clear rating
Open Preview