The Distant Wound
The bell in the tower of St. Jude’s rang not with the clatter of iron on iron, but with the wet, heavy thud of a heart being squeezed dry by a giant’s hand, a sound that vibrated in the marrow of my bones and turned the air in the cellar thick as milk. I sat on the stone floor, my back against the cold dampness of the wall, my hands wrapped around the small, leather-bound book that had cost me...
0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews