The Wistful Show
The rain in Oakhaven did not wash things clean; it only made the mud slicker and the shadows deeper. Margaret stood in the center of the textile mill, her boots sinking into the wet floorboards that had been worn smooth by a century of restless feet. The machinery was silent, a dead iron beast slumbering in the dark, but Margaret could still hear the phantom clatter in her teeth, a rhythmic...
0 Commenti 0 condivisioni 18 Views 0 Anteprima