The Sharp Shards

Corridors of airbiting bitter chilldo the chasms lowin my stomach ill. Blood rushes intomy vessels my wits.My wits at their endssummon rage fits. A tunnel my visionsees not but insanity.When forces comewith tragic calamity. I see but a childplace hands at a helmthat drives maturityfar from my realm. A vexed mind sitshere so appalled.I heard…