The Wistful Voyage
The silence in the Great Hall of the Ministry of Internal Stability is not an absence of sound, but a heavy, pressurized presence, a thick gelatinous thing that coats the throat and clings to the back of the eyes. You are standing in the center of the polished obsidian floor, your shoes, stiff and black, offering no grip, no comfort, only a rigid foundation for a body that feels increasingly...
0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews