The Weight of Solitude
The library of St. Jude’s was a cathedral of silence, where the only sound was the rhythmic ticking of a grandfather clock and the soft rustle of vellum. Clara lived in the margins of this silence. She was a woman of thirty, though she looked fifty, her skin the color of old parchment, her eyes hidden behind thick, round glasses. To the patrons, she was merely a fixture of the building, as...
0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews