The Golden Maze
The iron gate is the only thing that remains solid. You stand before it, your hands trembling against the cold, riveted metal. It is not a lock you are trying to pick, but a seal. A geometric truth. The air smells of ozone and old blood. You are here because the King ordered it. You are here because you are the prisoner who built the prison. You remember the day he left. He was not your brother...
0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 1 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen