The Shrouded City

Leina · Apr 4, 2026

Endless rain softens every edge of this place.
Above, a ceiling of thick grey cloud; below, a white Fog that has eaten the streets.
Only the rooftops and the upper bones of bridges remain,
floating like tired islands over a vanished map.

You learn to move by memory and echo —
counting stairs in the dark, trusting the sound of your own feet on wet concrete.
Some nights, faint lights rise out of the Fog and fall into puddles with a soft marimba sound,
as if someone far below is still trying to play a song for the ones who stayed.

Leina sits on the edge of the roof with her feet in the rain,
watching the Fog as if it were the only sea she's ever known.