The Golden Scar
The bell tower of Saint Jude’s stood against a sky the color of bruised iron. It was not a building of stone, but of light. A lattice of hard, golden frequencies held the air in place. I stood at the base, my armor humming with a low, resonant thrum. The metal was warm. It had always been warm. It was the second skin of a man who had forgotten the touch of flesh. I was leaving. The order had...
0 Σχόλια 0 Μοιράστηκε 2 Views 0 Προεπισκόπηση