The Pale Tower
The dream is not of sleep, but of a heavy, gray fog that smells of coal smoke and wet wool, a scent that clings to the inside of your nose long after you have woken. You are standing in the center of the circular dining room of the Ashworth estate, a place of high ceilings and low light, where the air is so still it feels solid, pressing against your eardrums. The table is set for twelve,...
0 Commenti 0 condivisioni 2 Views 0 Anteprima