The Wistful Petal
The roof of St. Jude’s collapsed before the sun had fully cleared the eastern ridge, a catastrophic surrender of wood and slate that turned the ancient nave into a jagged mouth of ruin. I stood in the center of the debris, my feet sinking into the wet dust of three centuries, while the rain began to fall with the indifferent persistence of a judgment already passed. The air smelled of wet oak...
0 Commenti 0 condivisioni 17 Views 0 Anteprima