The Distant Ghost
The room smelled of wet wool and old paper, a heavy, suffocating scent that clung to the back of your throat like a swallowed stone. You sat in the corner of the cellar, the stone floor cold through the thin soles of your shoes, while above you, in the parlor, the music played. It was a waltz, something by Strauss, but the notes were distorted, stretched thin by the thickness of the ceiling,...
0 Commenti 0 condivisioni 2 Views 0 Anteprima