The Wistful Crossroads
The rain fell in sheets that turned the cobblestones of Oakhaven into mirrors, reflecting the neon bleed of the convenience store and the dying embers of the gas lamps, a slick, grey world that seemed to have been washed of all color except the bruised purple of the storm and the sterile white of the fog. Dr. Elias Thorne stood on the corner, his umbrella tilted precariously against the wind,...
0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 2 Visualizações 0 Anterior