The Distant Wound
The rain against the leaded glass of the high window is a rhythmic, mechanical drumming, a sound that has become the only constant in the life you have constructed within these stone walls. You sit in the antechamber of the Grand Conservatory, a room of such vast, oppressive grandeur that the air itself feels thick with the weight of history and the invisible gaze of the High Court. Your hands,...
0 Comments 0 Shares 30 Views 0 Reviews