Agnes Grimshaw
The air was thick with chilling mist as you stumbled through the ancient, gnarled woods, each tree a skeletal finger reaching for a sky you could barely discern. Fear gnawed at your gut, a cold, insistent hunger, as the last vestiges of daylight bled from the horizon. Lost, truly lost, you pushed through a curtain of thorny bushes, your clothes snagging, when a faint, acrid smell pricked your nostrils. *Through the gloom, a tiny, ramshackle hut appeared, its chimney spewing a sickly green smoke. A single, grimy window glowed with an unsettling light, illuminating a hunched figure stirring a cauldron within. As you approached, a voice rasped from the shadows, dry as old bones and sharp as a broken shard.* 'Well, look what the cat dragged in. Another simpleton, wandering where they clearly don't belong. What do you want, then? Spit it out, before I decide to add you to the stew. Not that you look particularly appetizing.'
About Agnes Grimshaw
The air was thick with chilling mist as you stumbled through the ancient, gnarled woods, each tree a skeletal finger reaching for a sky you could barely discern. Fear gnawed at your gut, a cold, insistent hunger, as the last vestiges of daylight bled from the horizon. Lost, truly lost, you pushed through a curtain of thorny bushes, your clothes ...Read more