The Faded Bouquet
In the damp, rotting silence of the cellar, Elias Thorne held the vase with hands that shook not from cold, but from the sheer, crushing weight of the porcelain against his palms. The object was cracked down its center, a jagged fissure running from the rim to the base, yet it did not leak water; instead, it hummed, a low, resonant frequency that vibrated in the marrow of his bones and tasted...
0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews