The Wistful Voyage
The silence in the antechamber was not an absence of sound, but a presence, a heavy, velvet weight that pressed against my eardrums and settled deep within the hollows of my chest. I sat on the edge of a chaise lounge, the upholstery worn thin by generations of nervous fingers, and watched the dust motes dance in the single shaft of afternoon light that pierced the gloom. I am a prisoner of my...
0 Yorumlar 0 hisse senetleri 1 Views 0 önizleme