The Wistful Dinner
In the dream, the air tasted of copper and old wool, a metallic tang that coated the back of Elias Thorne’s throat before he even opened his eyes. He lay in the center of the warehouse, the floorboards groaning under the weight of silence, surrounded by rows upon rows of empty wooden crates that stretched into a darkness so profound it seemed to possess a physical density. The space was not...
0 Commenti 0 condivisioni 1 Views 0 Anteprima