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Roryos
Oct 08, 2019 02:34PM
Semblables à des murmures, les syllabes s’écoulent comme une source impétueuse, formant des arches pluvieuses entre les sillons de mes paumes.View all Conversations
Stories by Jibe Roryos
The Ashes of Wey
Before light bent the horizon, before names turned to dust, there was Kplir.
A world of vast forests and iron...
Each Person You Meet
If you had to identify how I felt, It'd be like swallowing absinth, burning your throat, yet smiling. She was...
Alley Accaparante
Alley ne respirait que brièvement, naîvement absorbée dans la contemplation de ce portrait.
« Je suis sénile...