The Faded Ruin
The dream was always the same. It smelled of wet ash and copper. I stood in a corridor of black stone, the air thick with the weight of unseen things. My hands were empty, but I felt the phantom ache of a heavy iron ring. It was not on my finger. It was around my throat. I reached up to touch it, but my fingers passed through the cold metal as if it were smoke. The dream did not end with a...
0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews