The moon glows dimly between the trees, broken to shards between spindly silver branches. Thin…
Tick…Tock…Tick…Tock The rickety old grandfather clock elicited a slight creak as the long metronome flung…
The woman in the glasses sits skeleton and quiet behind the desk of mahogany-carved gates of hell. Her eyes like gray bullets molten and shaped in hard cast-iron fire crushed and pressed beneath the silver days of youth.