The Faded Paradox
The basement of the Blackwood Estate does not smell of dust, as you might expect of a place sealed away from the light for decades, but rather of wet ash and the faint, coppery tang of old blood, a scent that clings to the back of your throat and refuses to be washed away by the cold water from the tap that runs in the corner, a tap that has been dripping for the five years you have worked...
0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews