The Wistful Asylum

added blog Literature

2026-08-22 12:59:37 -

The iron tasted of rust and old blood. Elias Thorne clutched the jagged piece of glass in his left hand, the shard digging into the meat of his palm, while the right hand gripped his service revolver. The barrel was cold. The fog was not. It rolled in from the valley below, a thick, grey wall that swallowed the sound of his boots on the gravel. He was thirty-two years old, a sergeant in the...

0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews