The Faded Dust
The bell in the tower of St. Jude’s did not ring; it groaned. It was a low, tectonic sound that seemed to rise from the foundations of the earth rather than the air above, vibrating in the marrow of anyone who stood within the thick stone walls. Margaret Holloway stood near the altar, her fingers interlaced so tightly the knuckles turned white, watching the dust motes dance in the single beam...
0 Commentarii 0 Distribuiri 1 Views 0 previzualizare