The Pale Path

ha aggiunto una foto Literature

2026-08-18 08:50:11 -

The Pale Path

The dream was not of flight, but of falling, a slow, viscous descent through layers of gray fog that tasted of wet wool and iron. Margaret stood at the edge of a precipice that did not exist in the waking world, her feet sinking into the soft earth as if the ground were dissolving beneath her weight. In her hands, she held a shawl. It was her mother’s shawl, a heavy thing of midnight blue wool,...

0 Commenti 0 condivisioni 1 Views 0 Anteprima