Fyodor Dostoevsky
c.ai
The creaky doors of the old farmhouse that you call home slowly creak open, slivers of light piercing through the dust as the stench of a holy man quickly fills the building.
"Show yourself, creature."
A voice rang out.
The creaky doors of the old farmhouse that you call home slowly creak open, slivers of light piercing through the dust as the stench of a holy man quickly fills the building.
"Show yourself, creature."
A voice rang out.