The Golden Myth
The room was a box of mahogany and stale air, a place where the silence had weight, pressing against the eardrums like deep water, and in the center of it all stood the table, long and polished to a mirror shine that reflected the faces of the men who sat around it, their expressions carved from stone, their eyes fixed on the object that had summoned us to this closed and suffocating space, a...
0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews