The Distant Clue
The mist in the Aetheric Distillation Hall did not behave like weather. It behaved like a memory, thick and grey, clinging to the copper piping and the steam valves with a tenacity that suggested it had been there for centuries, waiting for someone to acknowledge its presence. I stood before the primary condenser, my hand resting on the cold brass wheel, feeling the faint, rhythmic pulse of the...
0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 7 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen