The Wistful Mirror
The fluorescent lights in the basement archives of the State Historical Society hummed with a low, electric persistence that seemed to vibrate in the marrow of Margaret Holloway’s bones. She had been down here for three hours, the air thick and stale, smelling of decaying paper and the faint, metallic tang of old dust that clung to her cardigan. Her fingers, stained with the yellowish residue...
0 Σχόλια 0 Μοιράστηκε 1 Views 0 Προεπισκόπηση