The Distant Temple
The ink on the decree was still wet, glistening like a wound in the candlelight, when you finally looked up from the floor where you had been lying face down for three days. You had not eaten. You had not drunk. The hunger was a dull, distant ache, a background noise to the sharper, electric pain of the humiliation that had driven you here, into this cold stone chamber of the Ministry of Truth,...
0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 1 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen