The Pale Mist

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2026-08-21 10:24:37 -

The Pale Mist

The wagon creaks over the gravel. You feel the vibration in your teeth. It is a cold morning. The mist sits heavy on the ground. It is not fog. It is milk. It is soup. It is thick. It clings to the hem of your coat. You pull it tighter. Your hands are gloved. They are red. You are the Warden. You carry the seal. You carry the key. You carry the silence. The town is called Oakhaven. It is small....

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