The Golden Song
The dream is always the same, though you do not remember waking. You are standing in the corridor of the Whitmore estate, the floorboards groaning under the weight of centuries, and the air is thick with the smell of wet stone and old beeswax. You are holding a golden song. It is not a melody, but a physical object, a small, humming sphere of light that rests in your palm like a warm egg. It...
0 Commenti 0 condivisioni 1 Views 0 Anteprima