The Faded Ruin
The air in the Atrium of Silence did not circulate; it stagnated, heavy with the scent of ozone and crushed rosemary, a perfume that had been engineered to soothe the neural pathways of the State Wardens but which had long since curdled into something akin to the smell of old blood. Thomas Bradshaw stood alone at the center of the vast, circular room, his boots sinking slightly into the moss...
0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 2 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen