The Wistful Petal
The nib of the fountain pen hovered a millimeter above the page, trembling with a weight that had nothing to do with the metal. Jacob Ashdown pressed his thumb against the inkwell, feeling the cold glass bite into the pad of his finger, and watched the black liquid gather at the tip of the steel. Outside, the rain hammered against the windowpane of the cramped boarding house, a relentless,...
0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews