The Wistful Throne
The iron bit in your mouth tastes of rust and old blood, and the world outside your skull is a cacophony of screaming steel and the wet, tearing sound of flesh giving way to the rain, yet you do not scream, because you have long since learned that sound is a luxury your kind cannot afford, and so you simply grind your teeth against the cold metal, feeling the vibration of the enemy’s sword...
0 Commenti 0 condivisioni 1 Views 0 Anteprima