The Pale Tower
The coat was the first thing to go, not because the cold demanded it, but because its weight had become a physical accusation, a heavy, velvet blanket of silence that draped over Margaret’s shoulders and pinned her to the floor of the archive room, a place where the dust motes danced in the slanting afternoon light like the ghosts of forgotten syllables. She stood by the window, watching the...
0 Σχόλια 0 Μοιράστηκε 1 Views 0 Προεπισκόπηση