Katrina Curson – författare

The room was silent save for the tick, tock of the ever swinging arm of the grand father clock, stuffed into the narrow corner of the small room. The room was littered with the remnants of history; such an unrelenting force as time had held sway; as ages past. Heavy motes of dust stood as a silent testimony to the silence which had permeated the room, Then like a breath something stirred in the rooms depths. Shadows swayed on the wall as a creature unfurled its heavy wings, disturbing the settled dust, plumes swirled towards the low cantered ceiling a low rumble echoed hollowly filling the with sound.