The Faded Guest

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2026-08-20 10:02:44 -

The Faded Guest

The fog did not lift. It thickened. I climbed. The iron rungs were slick with condensation. Cold. I gripped them. My knuckles whitened. Below, the city hummed. A low, industrial groan. Steam hissed from the vents. The smell of coal and wet wool. I looked up. The sky was gone. Only mist. White and endless. "You are late, Clara." The voice came from everywhere. It was dry. Like dead leaves...

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