The Pale Tale
The mirror in the dressing room did not reflect James Whitmore’s face, but the room itself, an infinite regression of gaslight and velvet that seemed to swallow the light before it could touch the glass. He adjusted his cufflinks, the silver ones his mother had given him on his wedding day, and watched them disappear into the shimmering air. He was a clerk at the Department of Internal Affairs,...
0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 1 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen