The Wistful Letter
The ivy on the north wall of Cell 4 has grown three inches since morning, and it whispers my name in a voice that is indistinguishable from my own. I am Elias Thorne, Junior Archivist, and I am writing this in the small, cramped hours of the night shift because the day belongs to Dr. Aris and the night belongs to the things that should not be. My father died six months ago, a man they called...
0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews