The Distant Whispers
The rain hit the glass of the greenhouse with a steady, rhythmic hiss. It was a sound like static. Like the background noise of a machine that would not stop. Arthur stood by the central row of ferns. He held his hands at his sides. They were trembling. The air inside was thick and hot. It smelled of wet earth and rot. This was the place he had chosen. This was the place he had to destroy. The...
0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews