The Golden Song
The pickaxe bites into the earth with a dull, metallic thud that vibrates up your arms and settles in the marrow of your shoulders, a sound that is less a noise than a pressure against the eardrums, a low, resonant hum that has been growing louder for the past three days as you dig beneath the floorboards of the cellar in the old Ashworth estate, a house that is slowly rotting from the inside...
0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews