The Distant Promise
The brass rail of the staircase in the Whitmore manor has worn smooth under the friction of a century of hands, a tactile memory that your own fingers now read with the insistent, cold clarity of a man who has spent too long in silence, and as you trace the grooves left by your father’s grip, you realize that the metal has begun to hum, a low, subsonic vibration that travels up your forearm and...
0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 1 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen