The Distant Garden
You are holding the horn upside down, Demetrios. The brass is cold, and the initials carved into the curve, K.P., are the only things in this room that still feel real to me. I The ice on the lake cracked at three in the morning, a sound like a bone snapping under the weight of the world, and I was standing in the vestry before high mass, listening to the silence of the office after the...
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