The Wistful Mirror
The rain did not fall so much as it hung in the air, a heavy, grey curtain that blurred the edges of the city into a smear of charcoal and rust. Elias Vance stood on the platform, his coat soaked through to the bone, watching the train pull away with a sound like a long, exhausted sigh. He had come to say goodbye to the old world, or rather, to say goodbye to the man he had been when he first...
0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 2 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen