The Pale Dance
The air in the sub-basement of the St. Jude’s Industrial Academy for the Deaf and Dumb was thick with the scent of wet plaster and old, rusted iron. It was a smell that clung to the throat, a physical weight that pressed against Elias Thorne’s ribs as he stood before the mirror, adjusting the collar of his uniform. The fabric was coarse, a heavy wool that smelled of the dyeing vat, and it...
0 Commentarii 0 Distribuiri 2 Views 0 previzualizare