The Golden Farce
The rain fell in sheets against the wet cobblestones of the Ministry of Internal Security’s courtyard, a cold, relentless drumming that seemed to echo the hollow ache in my chest as I stood clutching my discharge papers and the yellowed deed to my late sister’s estate, a crumbling manor that was the last tangible proof of her existence, while Minister Vane, the architect of the regime’s latest...
0 Commenti 0 condivisioni 1 Views 0 Anteprima