The Pale Bridge

added blog Literature

2026-08-20 18:24:43 -

The Pale Bridge

The mist does not lift here; it thickens, pressing against the skin like wet wool, a constant, suffocating embrace that smells of rotting peat and old iron. I have lived in the village of Oakhaven for thirty years, serving as the clerk for the manor house that looms over the valley like a gray stone tooth. My name is Arthur, and I am a man of quiet habits and smaller silences, a creature who...

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