The Pale Tower
The mill stood against the gray, iron-laden sky like a tombstone carved from the bones of the earth, its four chimneys exhaling a thick, sulfurous breath that tasted of burnt hair and ancient dust in my mouth. I was only twelve, a scrawny thing of knobby knees and sharp elbows, yet I felt the weight of the decades pressing down on my shoulders, a physical gravity that pulled at my chest and...
0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 1 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen