The Faded Photograph

added blog Literature

2026-08-20 04:12:28 -

"You're late." The voice was not my own. It was gravel and ice. It was the sound of a boot scuffing against wet stone. I looked down. My boots were red. They were stained to the ankles with a dark, viscous mud. The mud was warm. It smelled of iron and old blood. "Who are you?" I asked. My voice was thin. It was a reed in a gale. The figure did not answer. The figure was tall. It was draped in a...

0 Comments 0 Shares 3 Views 0 Reviews