The Wistful Asylum
The porcelain cup shatters on the kitchen floor, a sudden, sharp violence that cuts through the quiet of the room. You stand in the center of the tile, your hands still raised as if you had thrown it, though you know you did not. It was the weight of the silence, the thick, humming pressure of the air in Millhaven, that drove your hand forward. The shards scatter like broken teeth, white and...
0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 3 Visualizações 0 Anterior