The Golden Mirror
The dream was always the same: a pane of gold leafing cracking under the weight of a finger, shattering into a thousand jagged teeth that sang a high, thin note. Elias Thorne woke with the taste of copper in his mouth, the cough already rising like a tide in his chest. He was forty-two, an architect displaced from a country that no longer existed on any map he cared to draw, trying to hold his...
0 Σχόλια 0 Μοιράστηκε 1 Views 0 Προεπισκόπηση