The Wistful Crossroads
Elias, stop that, your hands are shaking, you’ll drop the gear again. The voice did not come from the room, but from beneath the floorboards, a low, vibrating hum that traveled up through the soles of his worn boots and settled in his teeth, cold and wet as a river stone. He did not look up from the workbench, where the brass skeleton of his father’s automaton lay disassembled under the weak...
0 Commenti 0 condivisioni 1 Views 0 Anteprima