The Distant Promise
The blade in your hand is not metal, but a frozen scream, jagged and translucent, humming with a frequency that rattles the teeth in your skull as you drive it into the chest of the figure standing before you, a figure who wears the face of your brother but whose eyes are hollowed out by the bureaucratic gray of the institution that has swallowed you whole, and the blood that sprays is not red...
0 Commentarii 0 Distribuiri 2 Views 0 previzualizare