The Wistful Witness
The orchid in the corner of the archive room had been dying for three weeks, its petals curling inward like dried parchment, a silent testament to the neglect that permeated the sterile air of the Municipal Records Office. I watched it from my desk, the hum of the fluorescent lights a constant, low-frequency thrum that seemed to vibrate in my teeth. My name is Elara Vane, and for the past...
0 Σχόλια 0 Μοιράστηκε 1 Views 0 Προεπισκόπηση