Rosie's Bloom
“If I don’t answer, she’ll find the rest instead.”
I stepped toward the doorway. The fog rippled like it could sense my resolve. Each step closer, the air grew colder, thicker, filled with whispers. Not words fragments of memory, cries from people I couldn’t name. It was as if the fog carried the voices of everyone it had touched.
When I reached the edge, it halted again, swirling low around my feet but not crossing. The mark glowed brighter, a perfect half between silver and crimson. The two colors pulsed together in time with my heart, refusing to choose.
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