The Wistful Asylum
"You are not human, are you, Elias?" the woman asked, her voice a thin thread of smoke unraveling in the dusty, coal-choked air of the parlor, where the shadows stretched long and thin like the fingers of a drowning man grasping at the surface of a dark, still pond. I did not answer, for to speak would be to admit the thing that had been growing in my chest for three decades, a thing that was...
0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 3 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen