The Distant Metropolis
You stand at the threshold of the heavy oak door, the hinges groaning in a low, mournful register that seems to vibrate directly against the bones of your chest, and you feel the weight of the silence that has settled into the walls of this ancestral house like dust settling into the cracks of old plaster, a silence that is not empty but thick, saturated with the unspoken grief of generations...
0 Комментарии 0 Поделились 1 Просмотры 0 предпросмотр