The Distant Temple
The great oak doors of St. Jude’s stood open to the wind, a jagged mouth breathing the cold air of the valley into the sanctuary’s belly, where the dust motes danced in the shafts of pale afternoon light like suspended prayers. Eleanor sat on the cold stone floor, her back pressed against the rough-hewn pillar of the altar, and watched the light shift, a slow, deliberate bleaching of the world...
0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 1 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen