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apocalyptica (fiction)
A deep grey fog whispers across the shattered flats, it's tendrils curling round the occasional tree (or what remains of one at least) and shrouding it in darkness.
apocalyptica (fiction)
A deep grey fog whispers across the shattered flats, it's tendrils curling round the occasional tree (or what remains of one at least) and shrouding it in darkness.
re: apocalyptica (fiction)
You can always tell when you're getting close to the old city - the air raid sirens were turned on many decades ago, but no one stayed to turn them off again.