The Wistful Mirror
The rain hammered against the slate roof of the attic, a rhythmic drumming that did little to mask the hollow ache in Elias Thorne’s stomach. He stood before the cracked mirror, the glass fractured by a stone thrown in a drunken rage three winters past, and stared at the gaunt reflection of a man who had nothing left to lose. At thirty-two, he was a junior clerk in the city of Oakhaven, a man...
0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews