Corruption
Here, I write to you, so you will live again, if in nothing else but memories of mine and others.
…before I forget.
Then maybe, maybe I shall be forgiven.’
The next words are smudged, incomprehensible.
“Wait a minute,” Proserpina glanced at the other books then at the one in her hands, suddenly feeling an odd chill running down her spine, “Thanatos… is this story for real?”
The god of death was curiously silent for a few painstaking moments and when Proserpina was about to give up, thinking that he was not going to answer, his voice came out as a sigh… like a mournful whisper.
Bab Populer