The Pale Mist

أضاف وظيفة جديدة Literature

2026-08-19 21:30:39 -

The Pale Mist

The rain did not fall. It hung. A grey veil. Thick. Wet. It smelled of iron. Of old blood. I smelled it on my breath. I stood by the window. The glass was cold. My hand pressed against it. The town slept below. Or so it seemed. The lights were dim. Amber. Soft. Like dying embers. I looked at my hands. They shook. They always shook now. The pain was a dull throb. A constant guest. It lived in my...

0 التعليقات 0 المشاركات 3 مشاهدة 0 معاينة