The Pale Bridge
The air in the town of Oakhaven did not so much exist as it hovered, a thick, amber suspension of dust motes and forgotten whispers that settled upon the shoulders of those who walked its narrow, cobbled streets, a tangible weight that pressed against the skin and demanded a kind of silent acknowledgment from anyone foolish enough to remain there for more than a single night. It was a place...
0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews