The Pale Mist

added blog Literature

2026-08-22 06:47:44 -

The Pale Mist

The fog rolled in at dawn. It was not a mist but a wall. A grey, breathing thing. It swallowed the church spire. It swallowed the lane. It swallowed me. I am an exile. I have no name here. Only a hunger. A hollow ache in my belly. A void that food cannot fill. I carry a bowl. It is clay. Chipped. I carry a spoon. It is bone. I am in the village of Oakhaven. Or so they called it. Now it is only...

0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews