The Distant Ghost
The chandelier above the main hall of Ashworth Manor swayed with a rhythm that had nothing to do with the wind, a slow, nauseating pendulum motion that seemed to synchronize with the beating of my own heart. I stood near the heavy oak doors, my tuxedo fitting poorly on a frame that had thinned over the last decade of exile, watching the guests mingle in the golden light while a thin, jagged...
0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews