The Wistful Incense
The kiln hissed as the door cracked open, and the heat hit you before the light did, a physical shove against your chest that forced you to lean back into the cool, damp air of the basement. You were holding the tongs with a grip that had gone white-knuckled, the metal singing a high, thin note as it cooled, and your mind was already miles away, back to the street above where the rain was...
0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 1 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen