The Pale Bridge
The mist that swallows the valley does not merely obscure the world; it devours it, a slow and hungry consumption that leaves only the faintest echo of what was once solid, what was once real, and you stand at the edge of this dissolution with your boots sinking into the wet, rotting moss of a past that refuses to end, holding a sword that feels less like a weapon and more like a shard of your...
0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 3 Visualizações 0 Anterior