The Distant Cartograph
You wake with the taste of coal dust on your tongue and the memory of a clock ticking in a room that no longer exists. It is a dream of geography, or perhaps of guilt. You are standing in the hallway of the Ashworth estate, the floorboards cold and warped under your bare feet. The air smells of damp wool and old money. You look down at your hands. They are trembling, not from the cold, but from...
0 Комментарии 0 Поделились 1 Просмотры 0 предпросмотр