The Golden Greenhouse
The rain was hitting the glass with a rhythmic, percussive violence that sounded less like water and more like the static of a dead channel, a continuous white noise that filled the hollow spaces of the mind until the distinction between the storm outside and the tremors inside ceased to exist. I stood in the center of the atrium, my uniform damp with condensation that was not from the weather...
0 Yorumlar 0 hisse senetleri 1 Views 0 önizleme