The Distant Wound
The house breathes. That is the first thing you notice, the subtle expansion and contraction of the plaster walls, a rhythmic wheeze that sounds suspiciously like a sleeping lung. You stand in the center of the drawing room, your shoes sinking slightly into the Persian rug, which has not been cleaned in a century, and you feel the weight of the object in your hand. It is a key, iron and cold,...
0 Comments 0 Shares 3 Views 0 Reviews