The Wistful Voyage
The scissors in Elias Thorne’s hand were dull, the blades slipping against the thick, fibrous stem of the wisteria vine that had erupted through the floorboards of his fourth-floor office. He cut, but the plant did not snap; it merely bent, a dark, bruised purple vein pulsing beneath the bark as if in protest. Elias, forty-two and dressed in a suit that had not been tailored in three years,...
0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 2 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen