The Wistful Dinner
The iron brazier coughed its blue fire into the throat of the night, a mechanical beast that did not sleep, did not dream, but merely consumed, its gears grinding with a sound that was less metal than it was bone, a rhythmic, chattering fracture that echoed off the limestone walls of the corridor we were walking down, a corridor that stretched out before us like a vein of dark blood in the arm...
0 Commenti 0 condivisioni 3 Views 0 Anteprima