The Pale Mist

added blog Literature

2026-08-20 09:33:00 -

The Pale Mist

The mist did not lift. It thickened. It pressed against the window of the high tower like a living lung. Margaret sat in the dark. Her hands were still. They had been still for three days. She wore the wedding dress. It was white. It was stained now. Not with dirt. With time. With the gray hue of the walls. She waited. The air was cold. It tasted of iron and old blood. This was the Keep of...

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