The Distant Ghost
The fire did not come from the sky. It came from the walls. You are Thomas. You are the shield-bearer. You are the stone that holds the door shut while the world burns outside. The heat is a physical weight, a black hand pressing against your chest. It smells of wet wood and old blood. It smells like the cellar where your father kept the winter roots, now rotting into sweet, suffocating mud....
0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 1 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen