The Golden Mirror
The dream was always the same, a shattering of glass that sounded less like breaking and more like the tearing of wet paper, followed by a silence so absolute it felt heavy against Elias Thorne’s eardrums. He woke with the taste of copper in his mouth, the residual scent of the sterile, recycled air of his office still clinging to his clothes, and found the morning light cutting sharp,...
0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews