The Faded Portrait
The air in the house did not so much as settle; it hung, thick and amber, preserving the dust motes in their slow, eternal drift. I had been living here for three days, or perhaps three weeks; time in this place had lost its linear integrity, bending around the heavy, oak-framed mirrors that lined the walls of the east wing. The house was a creature of stone and silence, a labyrinth of...
0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 3 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen