The Faded Quadrant

added blog Literature

2026-08-19 03:09:15 -

The rain did not fall; it hung in the air, a grey curtain that smelt of wet stone and old iron. I was ten years old, my hands slick with the mud of the cellar floor, and I was trying to stop the bleeding from the wound in my arm. It was not a deep cut, just a scratch from the jagged edge of the crate I had fallen against, but the blood ran faster than it should have, dark and steady, pooling in...

0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews