The Wistful Skyline
The wind that swept across the Moors did not howl; it sighed, a long, ragged exhalation that stripped the color from the heather and left the air tasting of iron and old rain. Elara sat at the edge of the cliff, her knees drawn up to her chest, watching the fog roll in from the sea. She was not human, or at least, not in the way that mattered to the village below. She was a creature of the mist...
0 Commenti 0 condivisioni 1 Views 0 Anteprima