The Wistful Cipher
You leave the gate open. It is a sin. The town knows it. The wind howls through the crack, carrying the scent of wet wool and old blood. You are the Warden. You have been the Warden for ten winters. Your hands shake. Not from cold. From hunger. "Is it done?" asks Thomas. He stands in the shadows. His face is pale. A mask of bone. He wears the grey cloak of the outcasts. "It is done," you say....
0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 2 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen