The Pale Mist

added blog Literature

2026-08-24 01:26:08 -

The Pale Mist

The ink is wet and smells of iron, a scent that has seeped into the fibers of my shirt and the pores of my skin since the magistrate’s men dragged me from the watchhouse. I am a sergeant of the King’s Guard, forty years old, and I sit in a stone cell that smells of damp rot and old blood, writing this down because if I do not, the lie will consume me whole. My concrete want is simple, brutal,...

0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews