The Distant Crown
The train groans against the tracks, a metallic shriek that cuts through the fog rolling off the river, and you sit in the corner of the third-class carriage, your hands resting on your knees, fingers curled slightly as if holding something fragile that has already slipped away. The year is 1912, or perhaps it feels like it, though the dates are blurring into a single, grey smear of industrial...
0 Commenti 0 condivisioni 4 Views 0 Anteprima