The Faded Paradox
Act I "You’re late." Etienne Noel wiped the dust from the glass, his rag leaving streaks of grime that looked like scratches. The bell buoy outside groaned, a low, wet sound that vibrated through the floorboards of the warehouse. He was thirty-four, a junior archivist with a coat that had seen better winters, and he had three days left on his contract. The Mirror of Saint Jude stood in the...
0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews