The Wistful Atlas
The iron collar hung heavy around the neck of the hound, a cold and unyielding ring that seemed to drain the very warmth from the fur beneath it, and as the creature thrashed against the chains that tethered it to the stone floor of the dungeon, the sound of its struggle was less a growl and more the wet, ragged sound of tearing silk, a fabric of sound that frayed at the edges until it...
0 Commenti 0 condivisioni 20 Views 0 Anteprima