The Pale Mist

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2026-08-19 14:39:02 -

The Pale Mist

The cell was not a room. It was a void. Silence. Totality. No sound. No light. Just the hum. A low vibration. In the teeth. In the bone. Malcolm sat. He did not move. He was a statue. Of guilt. His hands were still. Locked together. Knuckles white. The air was thick. It pressed against his skin. Like a shroud. He breathed. In. Out. The rhythm was mechanical. Precise. Calculated. He was a...

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