The Pale Altar
You wake with the taste of rust on your tongue, a metallic tang that lingers long after the dream has dissolved into the grey light of the attic. The air here is thick, heavy with the scent of old wool and the damp rot of wood that has forgotten how to stand straight. You are not entirely sure where you are, or rather, you know exactly where you are, which is the worst part. You are in the...
0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 1 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen