The Wistful Witness

added blog Literature

2026-08-19 10:32:31 -

The rain did not fall so much as it hung in the air, a thick, grey curtain that smelled of wet wool and old iron, and you stood there in the yard behind the chapel, watching the last of the foxgloves shatter against the stone wall, their purple throats bursting open to reveal nothing but wet, dark seeds that looked like tiny, crushed teeth. You knew what you were seeing because you had been...

0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews