The Pale Mist

added blog Literature

2026-08-19 00:33:57 -

The Pale Mist

The bread was warm. It sat on the table, a rough loaf of sourdough, still holding the heat of the oven. The crust was thick and dark, cracked in long, jagged lines like dried riverbeds. The air in the room was thick with the smell of yeast and burnt sugar. Elias stared at it. He did not touch it. His hands were clasped tightly in his lap. The fingers were white, the knuckles swollen. He wore a...

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