ghosts

Pixel Prose Challenge: The Weeping Lady

The time of darkness is almost upon us, as swirling fog, damp with moisture clings to deep black silhouettes of trees starkly lit by the greyness of the evening sky. Night birds scatter – inky shadows flitting about nearing the barren edges of the slough, as falling leaves shower the grasses stirring in the cool drafts of the night. Darkness descends, a blanket of ebony gloom enveloping and protecting, holding her tight as the weeping lady sings lyrics dipped in fright glorifying []