The Distant Machine
The rain had not stopped for three days, turning the cobblestones of St. Jude’s into slick, black mirrors that reflected the grey, weeping sky above, and I found myself standing in the nave with a broken mirror shard tucked securely into the lining of my coat, my heart beating a frantic, arrhythmic counterpoint to the slow, heavy tolling of the cathedral bells. I was the new inquisitor, or so...
0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 1 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen