The Distant Ghost
The iron door of the vault was not merely closed; it was fused, a slab of oxidized steel that smelled of rust and old blood, sealing you within the belly of the world. You are sitting on the floor, your knees drawn up to your chest, the cold seeping through the wool of your trousers, a sensation so sharp it feels like a physical weight pressing against your bones. The air here is stagnant,...
0 Commentarios 0 Acciones 1 Views 0 Vista previa