The Pale Shadows
The ink was still wet on the ledger when Elias Thorne first noticed the discrepancy, a faint, jagged tear in the continuity of the dates that seemed to bleed into the paper like a bruise. He sat in the archives of the Harrowgate Textile Mill, the air thick with the scent of dust and old wool, his magnifying glass trembling slightly in his hand as he traced the alteration. Forty years old, with...
0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews