The Faded Guest
The frost had settled on the windowpane of the small back room like a fine, white lace, sealing Margaret’s breath into the cold air. She did not shiver, though the fire in the grate had long since died to a bed of grey ash, leaving the room in a silence that felt heavy, almost tangible, pressing against her eardrums. She sat at her workbench, the wood worn smooth by decades of her fingers, her...
0 Σχόλια 0 Μοιράστηκε 4 Views 0 Προεπισκόπηση