The Pale Door
The air in the village of Oakhaven did not merely circulate; it thickened, a viscous syrup of woodsmoke and damp earth that clung to the skin of every inhabitant, a tangible weight that pressed against the lungs and settled deep in the bones, a physical manifestation of the time that had long since passed through them and continued on its indifferent, relentless march toward the void. It was...
0 Commenti 0 condivisioni 4 Views 0 Anteprima