The Wistful Show
The fire did not start in the kitchen, but in the archive, a slow, hungry bloom that turned the smell of old paper into the sweet, cloying scent of burnt sugar. You watched from the corridor, your hands trembling not from fear, but from a strange, electric clarity, as the heat began to warp the glass of the transom window above the entrance. The building was the Institute for Behavioral...
0 Commenti 0 condivisioni 3 Views 0 Anteprima