The Faded Quadrant
The train groaned against the rusted tracks as it descended into the valley, a long, metallic exhale that seemed to carry the weight of the entire decaying institution behind it. Arthur Penhaligon sat in the corner of the second-class carriage, his spine pressed rigidly against the window glass, watching the fog unravel from the weeping willows that lined the embankment, their branches dragging...
0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 2 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen