The Faded Root
The air tastes of copper and old ash. You are running. The ground beneath your boots is not earth, but a thick, gelatinous moss that squelches with every step, offering no solid purchase. Above you, the sky is a bruised purple, swollen and silent. There are no stars. There is only the light of the Lantern-Keepers, those towering, skeletal figures that drift through the gloom, their heads hollow...
0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 1 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen