The Wistful Petal
The rain didn't fall so much as it leaked out of the sky, a persistent, grey sweat that soaked into the marrow of our bones and turned the cobblestones of the lower district into slick, treacherous mirrors. I stood at the edge of the platform, holding the ticket for the express to the capital, my thumb rubbing the perforated edge until the paper threatened to tear. Beside me, Elias adjusted the...
0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 3 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen