The Pale Circus
The mist did not merely rise from the valley floor; it exhaled, a slow, gray breath that swallowed the foot of the ancient oak and climbed its bark with the tenacious, silent patience of a lover who has been denied entry for a decade, wrapping itself around the wood until the tree was no longer a solid thing of root and sap but a ghostly suggestion of itself, a spectral pillar standing in a sea...
0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 2 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen