The Golden Mirror
I. The brass binding-ring of the Umbervale case caught the light as I slipped the last shard of the mirror into my palm, the edge biting into the meat of my thumb. I was still in the tithe barn, the air thick with the dust of owed grain and the heat of a sun that refused to set, when the sound of the coal offloading began outside, a rhythmic, industrial thud that shook the floorboards beneath...
0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews