The Faded Frontier
The glass shatters. It is not a metaphor. It is a sound like a bone snapping in the dark. You watch the shards fall. They are beautiful, jagged teeth of blue and green, catching the candlelight. They cut the air. They cut your breath. You are in the Hall of Mirrors. No, that is too soft. It is the Hall of Judgement. The stones are cold. The air smells of wet wool and old blood. You are an...
0 Commenti 0 condivisioni 2 Views 0 Anteprima