The Foggy Grave by Danny O'Neill
Mist gathers like whispered secrets over the hollowed earth.
A lantern flickers, alone, in the clutch of damp shadows.
The soil exhales a sorrow older than memory.
Time drips slowly,
like candlewax from a forgotten altar.
Footsteps vanish before they are claimed.
Each breath tastes of iron and cold stone.
Shapes move at the edge of sight,
liquid, patient, unwilling to be named.
A raven pauses on the crooked fence,
its eyes twin lanterns of hunger and judgment.
Wind scours the hollows between trees,
pulling at coat sleeves,
nudging the living toward the silence beneath the mist.
Here, the grave sleeps like a wound that refuses to close.
Its fog seeps into skin,
slipping under eyelids,
coiling into the heartbeat.
Voices rise without sound,
echoes of those who never left.
You feel them,
but their touch is the absence of touch,
a weight that hums through marrow and memory.
The lantern dies.
Shadows pool.
You are still.
The fog becomes a mirror.
And in it, your own eyes peer back,
wide, unblinking, unafraid.
A NEW ROUND OF ENCHANTMENT IS COMING!!!!!!!!! THIS ROUND IS FROSTBITTEN A TALE FROM THE GRAVEYARD.SUCH SPOOKY FUN AND HOW APPROPRIATE RIGHT AFTER HALLOWEEN!!!SO MANY WONDERFUL ITEMS TO SEE AND EXPLORE!HOPE TO SEE YOU THERE ♥

































