The Faded Bouquet
The iron gate groans as you force it open, the sound like a long, dying breath escaping a throat clogged with rust and years of silence. You step onto the gravel, the stones crunching under the heavy leather soles of your boots, a sound that feels too loud in the suffocating stillness of the corridor that leads to the tower. The air here is thick, tasting of damp stone, old paper, and the...
0 Commenti 0 condivisioni 2 Views 0 Anteprima