The dream was always the same. A white room. A single chair. And on the desk, a letter sealed with wax the color of dried blood.
Elise woke with a gasp. The air in her apartment was thick and cold. It was November in Chicago. The wind pressed against the windowpane like a hungry ghost. She sat up. Her head throbbed. The fever had not left her. It had been there for three days now. A low,...
English
Arabic
French
Spanish
Portuguese
Deutsch
Turkish
Italiano
Russian
Romaian
Portuguese (Brazil)
Greek