The Wistful Letter
"You have made a fool of yourself, Julian." The voice cut through the fog like a blade of ice. I looked up from my desk. The parchment was still damp. My ink had not yet dried. It glistened like a black eye. I did not answer. I could not. The words sat in my throat, heavy and cold. Margaret stood in the doorway. Her dress was white. It was stained with mud. She looked tired. Her eyes were dark....
0 Commenti 0 condivisioni 28 Views 0 Anteprima