The Distant Nightmare
The ink on my ledger is dry. It has been dry for three days. I am Thomas. I work in the archive. The building is old. The stone is cold. The air smells of dust and decay. I am a clerk. I am not a hero. I am not a wizard. I am just a man who counts papers. My father died in this building. That was twenty years ago. He was the head archivist. He vanished on a Tuesday. They found his coat. They...
0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 1 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen