The Golden Mirror
The nightmare always begins with the sound of shattering, a crisp, violent explosion of gold that seems to peel away from the air itself, leaving behind a jagged, glittering void where my reflection should be; I wake with the taste of copper in my mouth and the phantom weight of a brass candlestick in my hand, the autumn chill of October 1893 seeping through the thin walls of my boarding house,...
0 Commenti 0 condivisioni 2 Views 0 Anteprima