Unfeigned
Truth. It dallied in my ear. Do I really want to know the truth? Am I ready? If the moon could just answer my personal interventions then it would cause me a lot to bear. But the unwavering curiosity almost bearing reality that dug, always crippling in my veins seems to be getting out of control. The lust to know the truth had always been in my shadows. And now it’s revealing itself. I stared at my worn-out, russet shoes. Mr. Zyrender was beside me, hands in his deep, empty pockets, gluing his sight to the picture. “My wife was killed by Penelope Hamington.” He muttered. I turned my gaze to look at the portrait. The beauty of his wife delicate and marvelously beguiling. His son was as old as Hannah in the picture. Innocent. His eyes were as happy as them as he clasped himself between h
- Writer
