The Distant Temple
The frost lay thick on the cobblestones, a white skin that cracked under the weight of my boots as I marched toward the gate. I did not look back at the town, for there was nothing left to see but the smoke rising from the bakery where I had eaten my last warm roll three days prior. My name is Thomas, and I am a man who has forgotten the taste of wine but remembers the specific, coppery weight...
0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 2 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen