The Golden Myth
The silence in the workshop was not empty but heavy, a physical weight that pressed against my eardrums, thicker than the dust motes dancing in the single beam of light that cut through the high, soot-stained window. I sat at the bench, my hands wrapped around a mug of tea that had gone cold hours ago, the ceramic rim chipped where my thumb usually rested, and I watched the clock on the far...
0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 4 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen