The Golden Cellar
The bell in the tower of St. Jude’s did not ring to mark the hour, but to mark the end of a life I had not yet begun to live. It was a deep, bronze-throated sound that vibrated in my teeth and settled in the hollow of my chest, a physical weight that pressed against my ribs with the insistence of a hand. I stood at the bottom of the spiral staircase, my boots scuffed with the red clay of the...
0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews