The Pale Protocol
The ink dries slow in this cell, thick and black as the soot that coats the high, barred windows. You write by the flicker of a tallow candle, the flame trembling in the draft that seeps through the stone, and you write because you must, because the silence here is a physical weight that presses against your temples until you feel your skull might crack. You are writing to no one, or perhaps to...
0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 1 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen