The Wistful Throne
You are standing in the center of the great rotunda, the air thick with the scent of ozone and old, wet stone, and you realize with a sudden, crushing weight that the clock on the wall is not ticking but bleeding, its face a shattered mosaic of glass and brass that drips a viscous, dark liquid onto the marble floor, each drop hitting with the finality of a gavel striking a judge’s bench in a...
0 Commentarii 0 Distribuiri 2 Views 0 previzualizare