The Golden Song
The ink bled into the dry paper of the incident report, a dark bruise spreading under your pen. You signed your name, Elias Thorne, thirty-four, Corrections Officer, and felt the cold seep through the soles of your boots. The Silent Wing hummed. It was a low, resonant vibration, felt more in the teeth than heard with the ears, a sound that lived in the marrow. You had been hearing it for six...
0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 3 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen