The Faded Photograph
The rain tapped against the window of the infirmary like a persistent, dull finger, a rhythm that had long since ceased to be music and had become a warning. Elias Thorne sat in the corner, his hands folded in his lap, watching the steam rise from a cup of tea that had gone cold an hour ago. The tea was not just a beverage; it was the center of his universe, the only anchor in a sea of static....
0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 1 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen