The Pale Mist
The tallow on the candle snuffed out with a wet pop, leaving the hall in a grey, suffocating half-light. I was still wiping the wax from my fingers when Halloway began to speak, his voice cutting through the murmur of the feast like a blade through wet wool. The smell of roasted boar and stale ale hung thick in the air, a cloying sweetness that coated the back of my throat. I looked up, my eyes...
0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews