Ｌｏｖｅ ｔｈａｔ ｂｌｉｎｄｓ
𝐋𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐠𝐨, 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐒𝐡𝐚𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐲 𝐚 𝐟𝐨𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐞𝐱𝐢𝐬𝐭 — 𝐚 𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐟𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐛𝐨𝐫𝐧 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐀𝐛𝐲𝐬𝐬.
The mist does not kill you. Not quickly.
It seeps into your mind, warping your senses, turning shadows into movement, whispers into voices. It devours the sunlight, leaving the land to rot in a cold, colorless dimness. Plants wither within days. Forests collapse into silence. Only fungi remain — pale, swollen, feeding on what’s left.
Most believe the mist is nothing more than a blind force. A natural disaster. A curse without thought.
They are wrong.
In the oldest legends of the Moth Tribe, the mist is not described as a thing — but as a presence. Something that watches... It does not spread at random.
It lingers. It shifts. It follows.
And those who spend too long within it begin to change — long before they understand what is happening to them.
