The Wistful Silence

toegevoegd een audio Literature

2026-08-17 22:48:42 -

The dream always began with the ink. It was not the black, viscous flow of a fountain pen, nor the dry scratch of graphite, but a thick, dark syrup that pooled in the hollows of his collarbones and seeped into the seams of his uniform. In the dream, the words were not written; they were stamped into the skin, burning with a cold, white heat. He woke in the small, drafty room above the general...

0 Reacties 0 aandelen 28 Views 0 voorbeeld