The Golden Oath
The bell above the door does not ring. It screams. You hear it before you see the man. It is a sharp, metallic shriek that cuts through the sterile hum of the fluorescent lights. You are standing by the heavy oak desk, your hands trembling at your sides. The wood is cold. It has always been cold. You press your fingers into the grain, feeling the history of the institution beneath your skin....
0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews