The Distant Joke
The morning light in the Hall of Records did not fall so much as it pooled, a thick, amber sludge that settled into the cracks of the floorboards and coated the dust motes in a sticky, golden varnish. It was a light that seemed to hold its breath, suspended in the heavy, paper-thick air of the institution, where the only sound was the dry, papery whisper of leaves turning under the manicured...
0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 6 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen