Ephemeral Bloom in Concrete Fields
The city breathes a cold indifference, doesn’t it? Another grey dawn
noir fiction
Stardust on Skin
The rain tasted like static on my tongue, didn't it?
The Static Between Heartbeats
Rain slicked the alley, mirroring the neon glow in my eyes. Another
The Obsidian Bloom
The rain always knew where to find him. A predictable pattern, really,
