The Pale Echo
The frost had not yet claimed the windowpanes of the apothecary, but the air inside was already thick with the scent of dried lavender and the metallic tang of old blood, a perfume that had saturated the very grain of the oak floors and the velvet drapes over the years, settling into the fibers like a second skin that I could never quite scrub away, no matter how many times I washed my hands or...
0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 2 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen