The Golden Mirror
The fire started at four. I was there. I saw it. It ate the oak door. It swallowed the hall. It took the house. It took everything. We stood in the street. The smoke was thick. It tasted like ash. It tasted like old money. "Run," I said. "Wait," said Mara. She held my arm. Her grip was tight. Her nails dug in. They hurt. I did not care. "Look," she whispered. We looked. The window was open. The...
0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 3 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen