The Pale Mist

added blog Literature

2026-08-24 08:05:05 -

The Pale Mist

The quill was a raven’s feather, stiff and black, held between Elias Thorne’s thumb and forefinger with a grip that had turned the skin white and dry. He sat in the scriptorium, the only light coming from a single tallow candle that sputtered in the draft, illuminating the vellum page before him. The silence of the room was not empty but heavy, pressed against his eardrums like water, broken...

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