The Pale Meridian
The iron taste of blood was not something I could wash away, no matter how many times I rinsed my mouth with the cold, metallic water from the well, a taste that had settled into the crevices of my teeth and the lining of my throat like a permanent stain, a reminder that I was still alive, still breathing, still bound to the flesh that had committed such terrible things in the name of duty, and...
0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 2 Visualizações 0 Anterior