The Wistful Asylum
The rain has been falling on the roof of the clinic for three days, a steady, rhythmic drumming that seems to seep into the walls, into the plaster, into the marrow of your bones. You are alone in the kitchen, the only light coming from the pilot light of the stove, a small blue eye that watches you as you work. The air is thick with the smell of wet wool and the sharp, medicinal tang of dried...
0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 2 Visualizações 0 Anterior