The Wistful Saga
I woke with the taste of iron and burnt sugar on my tongue, a metallic tang that clung to the roof of my mouth like a bad memory. The air in the room was thick, humid with the scent of coal smoke and damp wool, the industrial heartbeat of the city thrumming through the floorboards. I sat up, disoriented. The glass jar on the nightstand was empty. It had been full last night, brimming with the...
0 Comments 0 Shares 3 Views 0 Reviews