The Wistful Mirror
The fluorescent lights of the administrative wing hummed at a frequency that seemed to vibrate directly against the molars, a low, persistent drone that had become indistinguishable from the rhythm of Elias Thorne’s own breathing over the last decade. He sat in his assigned chair, a molded plastic structure that offered no support and demanded perfect posture, and watched the dust motes dance...
0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 2 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen