The Faded Sutra
"You broke the shell," the boy said. He did not look up. His fingers hovered over the black keys, plucking out a single, dissonant note. The piano in the hall had seen better centuries. The lacquer was peeling like dead skin. I stood in the doorway. My uniform felt heavy, the wool scratching against my neck. It was a fine, dry afternoon, the kind that makes the dust motes dance in the shafts of...
0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews