The Wistful Ashes
The ink on the ledger was still wet, shimmering with a viscosity that seemed to defy the arid, recycled air of the Ministry, and I traced the line of my own signature with a finger that had forgotten how to tremble, for the act of signing was no longer a declaration of intent but a ritual of erasure, a quiet surrender of the self to the machinery of the state that hummed beneath our feet like a...
0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 1 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen