trasharmdsister12

He raced away at his typewriter, forced by an unknown presence to construct a dark realm to consume all that he knew. The editor, a fair-skinned elderly woman dressed as a widow, pierced his very being with her cold fingers at his shoulder. The writer...

S is for the self-perpetuating skies that stretch the surface of sight. K is for Khajit – the weirdest race I’ve ever had the pleasure to control in a game. Y is for yawns endured in the endless nights of saying to myself “just one more quest”. R...