The Golden Master
The bell rings. It is not a sound. It is a fracture. You hear it before you see him. The glass shatters. A thousand shards of silver light burst across the floor. You do not move. You are a statue of ice. He stands in the doorway. The shadow of his hat covers his face. He is tall. He is thin. He smells of rain and rust. "Is this it?" he asks. His voice is soft. It cuts. It is a blade wrapped in...
0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 8 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen