The Golden Mirror
The rain lashed against the fogged glass of the attic window, blurring the grey skyline of London into a watercolor of soot and sorrow, and you stood there, the weight of the silver chain pulling at your collar with a gravity that felt less like metal and more like a sentence of imprisonment. You were twelve years old, a boy of sharp elbows and softer fears, and in your hand, you held the...
0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews