The Distant Clue
The air in the archive smells of rot and old paper. It is a cold, dry smell. You sit alone. The candles gutter in their iron sconces. Shadows stretch across the stone floor like long, black fingers. You are here for the bread. Not to eat it. To find it. The legend says the Loaf of St. Jude does not spoil. It feeds the soul. It keeps the body from decay. You have read the texts. You have traced...
0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 2 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen