The Distant Wound
The rain did not fall so much as it was pressed into the air, a fine, cold mist that clung to my skin and soaked through the heavy wool of my uniform, turning the fabric into a second, tighter skin that chafed against the bruises blooming across my ribs. I stood in the center of the atrium of the Ministry of Structural Integrity, a building that was less a structure of stone and glass and more...
0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 1 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen