The Wistful Dinner
Elias. The name hung in the cold air of the chapel, spoken by the wind through the broken lancet window, or perhaps by his own throat, dry and cracked from the climb. He was thirty-two, a surveyor for the Crown’s minor land disputes, a man who measured the world in chains and rods, in precise and indifferent geometry. In his hands, he clutched an astrolabe of tarnished brass, its surface webbed...
0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 1 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen