The Distant Clue
The fog rolls in thick. It smells of wet stone and old iron. You stand on the edge of the cliff. The wind pulls at your coat. You are not here to watch the sea. You are here to be found. Or perhaps to be forgotten. It is hard to tell the difference anymore. The mist erodes the line between where you end and the world begins. You feel light. Too light. Like a leaf caught in a gale. Your name is...
0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 3 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen