The Distant Affair
The bell tower cracked first. It happened at dawn. A fissure, thin as a spider’s thread, running from the roofline down to the belfry. Then a split. Then a shudder. The stones groaned. Dust poured from the mortar like gray blood. I watched from the square. My hands were shaking. My knees felt weak. The town held its breath. We were not a place of war. We were a place of trade. Wool. Grain....
0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 2 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen