The Pale Mist

added blog Literature

2026-08-21 11:09:24 -

The Pale Mist

The bread was warm. That was the first thing he noticed. Not the smell, though the yeast and rye hung heavy in the stone air. Not the sight of the loaf, golden and cracked, resting on the oak table. But the heat. It radiated through the thick cloth. It pressed against his palms. He sat in the dark. The window was barred. Iron. Rusty. Outside, the rain tapped a slow rhythm. *Tap. Tap. Tap.* "Is...

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