The Wistful Show

added blog Literature

2026-08-22 14:28:34 -

The Wistful Show

The mist in Oakhaven does not rise; it settles, heavy and wet, like a wool blanket dropped on a sleeping dog. It clings to the cobblestones, to the iron grates of the watchtowers, to the skin of the men who patrol the perimeter, stripping the color from the world until all that remains is grey stone and the grey of exhaustion. I am Silas Vane, and I am running. My lungs burn, a sharp, acidic...

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