The Pale Verdict
The mirror had cracked down the middle, a jagged scar running from the silver frame to the glass, splitting the reflection of the woman who stood before it into two halves that did not quite align. It was not a metaphor, not in the way that poets of the outer world used the word, but a physical reality, a wound in the air itself that bled cold light into the dim, stone-walled chamber. Margaret...
0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews