The Distant Wound

ha aggiunto una foto Literature

2026-08-19 09:05:08 -

The Distant Wound

The rain fell in sheets. Grey. Cold. It slicked the cobblestones of the Old Quarter. I walked fast. My boots slapped the wet stone. *Slap. Slap. Slap.* The city was a beast. It breathed steam and rot. I was the hunter. Or so I told myself. My father was gone. Three days. The wardens had taken him. They said he was sick. A fever of the mind. But I knew better. I saw the bruises. I saw the blood....

0 Commenti 0 condivisioni 1 Views 0 Anteprima