The Wistful Silence
The iron bar was heavy, heavier than it looked, and my arms burned as I dragged it across the damp stone floor of the cellar to pry open the rusted lock. I was thirty-two years old, a sergeant who had bled for this castle for fifteen years, and I was dying of hunger in the dark. Above me, the siege raged, a dull, constant thumping that vibrated in my teeth, but down here, the silence was a...
0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 1 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen