The Pale Bridge
The frost had turned the world into a sheet of white paper, blank and waiting for a story that no one wanted to write. Thomas stood on the bank of the river, the cold biting through his heavy wool coat, feeling the familiar ache in his joints that was not from age, but from the weight of what he carried. "You are late, Thomas," said the voice from the other side of the chasm. It was not a...
0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 1 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen