The Golden Master
The rain fell upon the slate roof of the Abbey of St. Jude not as water, but as a fine, grey dust that settled into the cracks of the mortar with a persistence that suggested it had been there for centuries, waiting for the specific frequency of my footsteps to wake it into motion, and I walked the narrow, spiraling corridor of the scriptorium’s upper gallery, my leather satchel heavy against...
0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 2 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen