The Wistful Mirror
The heavy oak door of the Royal Conservatory of Arts and Letters groaned shut behind you, a sound like a bone breaking in the deep winter dark. You are standing in the Hall of Mirrors, a corridor that stretches so far into the gloom that the end seems to exist only in theory, lost in a fog of polished silver and shadow. You are holding it. The object is not a mirror, despite the name of the...
0 Commenti 0 condivisioni 6 Views 0 Anteprima