The Golden Mirror
Thorne. The name hung in the air, sharp and brittle, spoken by the cleaning lady as she dragged a mop across the linoleum. Elias did not look up. He was staring at the object on his desk, the golden frame of a mirror that had arrived without a signature, wrapped in brown paper that smelled of damp earth and old varnish. It was a gift from his father, a man who had died three weeks prior,...
0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews