The Distant Affair
The frost did not come gently. It struck the glass of your workshop window like a shattering bone, splitting the pane into a web of jagged teeth. You held your breath, the air in your lungs turning to ice. Outside, the city of Ashworth was silent, buried under a white silence that felt heavier than the snow itself. You were a maker of clocks. Small things. Precise things. But the cold was a...
0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 7 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen