A Curse for the Homesick
© lokepub
Prelude
PRELUDE
Where the earth gives way, there is a man made of stone. The snow catches on his eyelashes and in the fine grooves of his lips, which are parted slightly—like he was about to say something. Behind him, frozen fog rolls relentlessly off the ocean.
Three women stand facing the edge of the cliffs with their shoulders touching.
The first says: “I don’t understand.”
The second says: “Fucking hell.”
The third doesn’t say anything at all.
If ads affect your reading experience, click here to remove ads on this page.