The Faded Portrait
The fever did not break so much as it dissolved, leaving behind a residue of salt and rust in the air of the valley, a place where the wind did not blow so much as it pressed against the skin with the weight of forgotten centuries, carrying with it the scent of ozone and decayed lilies that grew in the cracks of the old stone walls where no one walked anymore. Elias Thorne lay in the narrow bed...
0 Σχόλια 0 Μοιράστηκε 1 Views 0 Προεπισκόπηση