The Wistful Saga
You stand at the edge of the precipice where the mist does not lift but thickens, a white wool drawn tight against the face of the world, and you realize that the air here tastes of iron and old, dry dust. This is the Hollow, a place that exists in the fold of a valley in the Scottish Highlands, or perhaps it exists only in the fractured mind of a man who has seen too much violence and too...
0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews