The Golden Mirror
The rain in the alley behind the Sterling Exchange does not wash things clean; it only makes the grime slicker, turning the soot-stained brick into a mirror of your own disheveled state. You are Elias Thorne, forty-two, and your hands are shaking so violently that the shards of the gold-framed mirror slip and cut your palms, the blood mixing with the rainwater in a thin, red rivulet. You want...
0 Commenti 0 condivisioni 1 Views 0 Anteprima