The Faded Road
The morning you leave the city of Ashworth, the fog is so thick it tastes of iron and old ash, a physical weight that settles upon your shoulders like a shroud woven from the very air you have been breathing for three decades. You walk away from the stone house where your father once held court, away from the garden where the roses have turned to black, thorny things that bleed sap instead of...
0 Commentarii 0 Distribuiri 1 Views 0 previzualizare