The Pale Mist

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2026-08-17 13:52:17 -

The Pale Mist

The ink was dry. It always was, by the time I saw it. I held the card. It was small. Square. White paper. Black text. No name. Just a symbol. A circle. A line through it. The mark of the void. Or maybe the mark of the eye. I couldn’t tell. I never could. My hands shook. Not much. Just a tremor. Like a leaf in a gale. I looked at the door. It was closed. I looked at the window. The city was...

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