The Wistful Atlas
"Sign here, and the debt is yours, not the factory's." Yui Shimizu looked at the paper. The ink was wet. It smelled of iron and old blood, a scent that cut through the damp air of the office at one hundred and nine of the Rope Walk. His father had died owing the guild three months prior, and now the debt had a face. It was the face of Kuroda, the owner, who stood with his back to the window,...
0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 1 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen