The Wistful Silence
The dust in the nave of Saint Jude’s Chapel did not settle; it hovered, suspended in a perpetual, golden suspension that defied the draft of the open windows, a fine powder that coated Elias Thorne’s lungs and the soles of his boots with the grit of the earth’s deepest memory. He stood alone in the hollowed-out center of the unfinished structure, the year 1342 pressing against his ribs like a...
0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews