The Wistful Mirror
The rain had not stopped for nine days, and the silence of the castle’s undercroft was so heavy that it felt less like an absence of sound and more like a physical weight pressing against the eardrums, a thick, wet wool that muffled the very breath of the living and reduced the world to a single, trembling point of focus on the stone table where I sat, my hands wrapped around a clay bowl that...
0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 3 Visualizações 0 Anterior