The Faded Chronicle
You wake in the mud. The smell is thick. Iron and rot. It coats your tongue. You spit. It is black. You are in a trench. The rain has stopped. The air is cold. It bites your skin. You are a soldier. You know this. You do not know your name. You look down. Your hands are shaking. They are white. The nails are broken. You pull a object from your belt. It is a pouch. Leather. Old. Inside is a...
0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 1 Visualizações 0 Anterior