The Faded Alibi
The cart broke its axle on the second day, leaving us stranded in a stretch of moor that the maps had forgotten. It was a silence so profound it felt heavy, pressing against my eardrums like deep water. I was a clerk, a man of ledgers and ink-stained fingers, not a traveler, yet here I was, driving a wagon laden with grain for the northern estates, while the man who owned the wagon lay dead in...
0 Σχόλια 0 Μοιράστηκε 2 Views 0 Προεπισκόπηση