The Wistful Silence
The dust in the workshop did not settle; it hovered, suspended in the stagnant air like a memory refusing to fade, and Elias Thorne sat amidst this suspended gray, his fingers trembling as he held the two fractured halves of the porcelain hourglass that had once belonged to his sister, Clara. He wanted to glue them back together, to seal the crack that ran through the neck like a vein of dried...
0 Σχόλια 0 Μοιράστηκε 1 Views 0 Προεπισκόπηση