The Wistful Ashes
The air in the Hall of Reconciliation was thick with the scent of roasted lamb and stale wine, a cloying sweetness that clung to the back of the throat and refused to dissipate even as the laughter of the citizens of Sector Four rang out like the clatter of iron on stone. You sat at the long table, your uniform pressed and clean, the fabric stiff against your skin, a second layer of flesh that...
0 Yorumlar 0 hisse senetleri 1 Views 0 önizleme