HabaneroArrow

Let me tell you how I met my end. It was in the remote village of Old Salt’s Throw, where the sun never shines and the rain is a haunting specter under steely storm-skies. On the coast it waited for me, iron waves a tempest raging against high black rock crumbling and weathered from centuries of assault, air tasting of decay. Like a colossal stone monolith a lighthouse stood over land and surf. But I’m getting ahead of myself. For countless sleepless nights I had felt a presence pressing upon my mind, filling it with whispers of madness and of a black forest shivering under the pallid light of the moon. Something beyond was