Jan 29, 2021
12 min read
This Sleep of Death
Cold was the only thing she could feel, weighting her limbs, fogging her senses, distorting her thoughts. Cold pressure against her mouth. A radiating cold of the stone table beneath her. Even the light was cold, streaming through the slits of the turret, draining the stone of hue.
Laughter. A voice, deep and rough. Another, harsh and high, the caw of a crow.
