The Faded Portrait
The mill took the river’s pulse. That was the first thing. The gears groaned. The iron teeth bit into the wood. It was a sound that lived in the bones. Elias heard it before he saw it. He stood on the bank. The water was thick. It moved slow. It moved heavy. It was not water anymore. It was a bruise. Dark. Swollen. Silent. Elias touched the bank. The mud was cold. It stuck to his fingers. It...
0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 1 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen