The Wistful Letter
The rain did not fall. It hammered. I stood in the center of the stone courtyard, the mud sucking at my boots. My sword was drawn. The tip trembled. Not from fear. From exhaustion. The castle walls loomed above, black against the bruised sky. Rainwater ran in thick rivers down the mossy stones. I watched it pool. I watched it disappear into the cracks. Then I saw the tree. It stood alone in the...
0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 4 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen