The Faded Photograph
The rain had not stopped for three days, turning the cobblestones of the village into slick, black mirrors that reflected only the grey, weeping sky above us. I stood at the threshold of the old estate, my boots sinking into the mud that seemed to pull at my ankles with a desperate, viscous grip, while the heavy oak door behind me swung shut with a finality that echoed through the hollows of my...
0 Σχόλια 0 Μοιράστηκε 3 Views 0 Προεπισκόπηση