At precisely eleven minutes to eleven, the town bells sighed three soft notes and the sky tightened like fabric into a darker, gentler color. People stopped and faced inward, toward the stone well at the center of the square. The well was old enough that moss grew from its ribs and young enough that children still leaned over and dared each other to drop pebbles to hear echoes. Tonight it would hold more than echoes.
Do you have a or design theme in mind that you'd like to see mocked up for a 1111customs project? 1111customs
The Ultimate Guide to 1111customs: Redefining Personalized Style At precisely eleven minutes to eleven, the town