Fairy Fog

When the lavender fog rolls in low and sweet, it curls through the hollows like a secret. A soft light flickers like a heartbeat from just beyond the veil. It belongs to the twilight fairy, who walks between worlds with silent steps, her wings dusted in dusk and dew, trailing traces of yesterday’s forgotten dreams.

She comes as the sun sighs its last breath, when the air is thick with stillness and stories waiting to be told. She lingers only briefly, brewing dreams from mist and bergamot, steeping forgotten wishes into the air.

The fog hums with quiet magic. It’s warm, strange, and bittersweet, and clings to your skin like silk and clouds. You may even catch a scent that makes your heart yearn: vanilla, tea, bibliosmia from an old book perhaps? Maybe it’s something you can’t quite name.

But take care. The deeper into the mist you go, the quieter the world becomes, and if the fog finds you too charming, it may decide to keep you.