The Distant Crown
The glass is cold against your palm. You hold it up to the dim light of the hall. It is not a simple shard. It is a piece of the chandelier that hung above the great table, the one your father insisted upon for the wedding. It is a sliver of crystal, sharp as a tongue, catching the moonlight that leaks through the high windows. You turn it over. The edge is jagged. The rest is smooth. You...
0 Commenti 0 condivisioni 3 Views 0 Anteprima