The Golden Mirror
The oak was dying. That was the first thing Silas noticed, not the blood, not the scream, but the slow, gray decay of the wood against the white wall. He stood in the center of the King’s study, the air thick with the scent of dried lavender and old iron. The mirror hung above the fireplace, a large, convex thing of polished silver. It did not reflect the room. It reflected only the tree. A...
0 Commenti 0 condivisioni 1 Views 0 Anteprima