The Distant Threshold

ha aggiunto una foto Literature

2026-08-21 10:52:50 -

The banquet hall smelled of roasted pheasant and wet wool. It was a thick, cloying scent, the kind that clung to the throat. We sat in a long row, twelve men in grey suits, our faces pale under the gaslight. The air was still. The clock on the mantel ticked with the precision of a surgeon’s scalpel. I watched the dust motes dance in the beam of light. They were alive. I was not. My name is...

0 Commenti 0 condivisioni 2 Views 0 Anteprima