The Distant Ghost
The train hissed, a long, dying breath. Clara sat by the window. Glass smeared with rain. Her reflection ghosted behind the glass. Pale. Thin. She wore a coat. Red wool. Heavy. It was her mother’s. The coat had a clasp. Gold. Old. It shattered. Not broke. Shattered. Clara stared at it. A piece of gold fell to her lap. Cold. Sharp. She picked it up. It cut her thumb. A bead of blood. Red on...
0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 2 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen