The Wistful Witness
You wake in the cold of the vault. The air tastes of iron and old dust. You are still wearing your coat. It is a heavy thing, woven from dark wool and bound with brass. The buttons are round and cold. You know them. You have known them since the day you were sworn in. You reach for them. Your fingers are stiff. The cold has seeped into your bones. You are a guard. You are the wall. You are the...
0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 1 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen