The Faded Shield
The iron plate sat on the workbench, a slab of cold, unyielding truth that reflected my own hollowed-out face back at me with a mockery I had come to expect from all things metal, all things forged in the heat of another’s ambition, and as I traced the dented crest with a finger that trembled not from age but from the sheer, crushing weight of the debt that had swallowed my life whole, I could...
0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews