The Faded Chronicle

a adăugat un sunet Literature

2026-08-19 20:02:34 -

The ink is wet. It smells of iron and rain. You press the quill against the parchment. The scratch is sharp. It cuts the silence. You are in the trench. Not a hole in the ground. A machine. Brass gears turn in the dark. Steam hisses from the vents. You are a soldier. You wear the uniform. It fits tight. The buttons dig into your skin. You remember the war. It was loud. It was red. Now it is...

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