The Pale Mist

added blog Literature

2026-08-20 18:57:30 -

The Pale Mist

The morning fog clung to the cobblestones of the Blackwater Barracks, a thick, wet grey that smelled of wet wool and old iron. It was not a natural fog, not in the way that mist rises from the river at dawn to clear by noon. This was a substance. It pooled in the gutters, it seeped under the heavy oak doors of the Watchhouse, and it settled into the bones of the men who stood guard. Seraphina...

0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews