The Distant Ghost
The air in the basement archive of St. Jude’s Institute for Wayward Youth smelled of damp limestone and the slow, sweet decay of paper. It was a scent that had seeped into the fabric of Elias Thorne’s skin over the course of his fifteen years as a volunteer, a smell that was now indistinguishable from his own. Elias stood before the long oak table, his fingers resting on the spine of a...
0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 2 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen