The Pale Mist

added blog Literature

2026-08-23 06:29:04 -

The Pale Mist

The snow bit into the raw skin of your knuckles as you hauled Silas’s weight over the ridge. He was dead weight, all of him, a sack of wet wool and iron that refused to lighten. You dug your boots into the ice, screaming a soundless prayer into the whiteout. The mist was not alive. It was only water, only cold, but Silas had sworn it moved with intent, had sworn it watched him. You did not care...

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