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A gray cloak, falling leaves, melting candles and the reek of burnt wax. Autumn has a way, doesn't it? Pumpkins, frost in the night, winter's shadow under the fullness of the moon. Magic of a sort, if you will, a time to speak to ghosts, to reflect upon the passage of another year, to don a mask and become what you fear.
I wonder if I'll ever find a way out of here.
I wonder if I'll ever find a way out of here.
Category Story / All
Species Unspecified / Any
Size 120 x 69px
File Size 371 B
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