The Wistful Atlas
The leather cover of the map book was warm from the fire, and the pages inside were cold, brittle things that crinkled under your fingers like dead leaves. You held it in your lap, the weight of it strange and heavy, a burden you had not asked to carry but now could not set down. Outside, the wind howled against the shutters of the cabin, a sound that seemed to scrape the very bones of the...
0 Commenti 0 condivisioni 1 Views 0 Anteprima