The Distant Legend
The air in the municipal planning office’s conference room was not merely stale; it was sterile, scrubbed of any organic warmth until it felt like the vacuum of a tomb. Elara Vance, thirty-four years old and standing rigid in a wool skirt that had begun to chafe against her thighs, slammed a heavy stack of manila folders onto the mahogany desk. The sound was a sharp crack in the silence, a...
0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews