The Distant Joke

أضاف وظيفة جديدة Literature

2026-08-20 00:06:12 -

The Distant Joke

The cold bit into my bones like a rusty nail. I stood on the edge of the Blackwood, where the trees twisted into shapes that defied the day. My cloak, once a patchwork of indigo and gold, hung in tatters. The threads were fraying. They were unraveling at the seams. I pulled at a loose strand. It snapped. I am Thomas. Or I was. The name feels heavy now. It sits in my throat like a stone I cannot...

0 التعليقات 0 المشاركات 6 مشاهدة 0 معاينة