The Golden Suspect
The dream was always the same, a viscous gold that pooled in the corners of my vision before I opened my eyes. I saw Clara, not as the frail, feverish child of three years ago, but as a translucent figure of light, her features a perfect, shimmering mirror of my own. She stood in the hallway of Vane House, her mouth moving in silent speech, while behind her, in the darkened glass of the window,...
0 Commenti 0 condivisioni 1 Views 0 Anteprima