The Wistful Mountain
The champagne flute felt heavy in Elias’s hand, the cold liquid sloshing against his ribs as the room swirled in a blur of gold and white. "You're doing it again," Clara whispered, her voice a fragile thread cutting through the roar of the celebration, her eyes fixed on a spot just above his left shoulder. "What am I doing, my love?" he asked, forcing a smile that felt like a mask glued on with...
0 Commenti 0 condivisioni 1 Views 0 Anteprima