The Wistful Ashes
The rain in the valley did not fall so much as it hung, a suspended mist that turned the cobblestones of Oakhaven into slick mirrors reflecting a sky that had forgotten how to be blue. Elias Thorne sat in his office, the door locked against the humidity, and watched the condensation bead on the inside of the windowpane. He was a man of middling stature and middling ambition, a data archivist...
0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 1 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen