The Pale Bridge
The fog has been thick for three days, a white shroud that swallows the cobblestones of the lower street and erases the distinction between the earth and the sky, until you find yourself standing in a void that feels less like absence and more like a held breath, a suspended moment of terrible, silent anticipation where the air tastes of iron and old, wet wool, and you are alone in your office,...
0 Commenti 0 condivisioni 30 Views 0 Anteprima