The Wistful Ashes
You are the Ash. You are the smoke that lingers in the throat. You sit at the head of the long table. The candles burn low. The wax pools like blood. You eat. You chew. You swallow. The food is cold. It tastes of iron. It tastes of dust. Across from you sits the Council. They wear gray. Their faces are masks. They watch you. They do not blink. They do not breathe. They are the System. You are...
0 Commenti 0 condivisioni 4 Views 0 Anteprima