The Distant Temple
The seal on your throat is made of blue ink, a character for silence that your grandfather, a man who spoke in riddles and drank too much rye, pressed into your flesh with a silver stylus when you were seven years old in the damp cellar of his house in Appalachia, a ritual he called the binding of the tongue so that you would not speak the truths that the world had not yet earned the right to...
0 Comments 0 Shares 8 Views 0 Reviews