The Distant Nightmare
You are the warden. You hold the bone. It is not a finger. Not yet. It is a shard of ivory, cold and dense, vibrating with a hum that you feel in your teeth before your ears register the sound. The hum is the frequency of the lock. The walls of the tower are wet. They weep a thick, black sap that smells of iron and burnt hair. This is the Citadel of the Unspoken, a place that exists in the...
0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 1 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen