The Faded Ruin
The rain in the capital does not wash things clean; it only makes the grime darker, slicker, more adherent to the skin. You stand in the center of the Grand Atrium of the Ministry of Order, the floor beneath your boots a mosaic of fractured marble and iron, a geometric nightmare of shattered tiles that you helped design three years ago. The air is thick with the smell of ozone, wet wool, and...
0 التعليقات 0 المشاركات 4 مشاهدة 0 معاينة