The Wistful Mirror
The rain did not fall so much as it was expelled from the sky, a cold, industrial exhalation that turned the cobblestones of the city into a slick, black mirror reflecting the gaslight of the passing trams. Sergeant Elias Thorne walked with the heavy, rhythmic cadence of a man who had spent too many years marching to a drumbeat that no longer existed, his boots striking the wet pavement with a...
0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 1 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen