The mist surrounds us and I am eternally grateful for it, but it saddens me when that beautiful mist chooses to fade, the forest devours it and we are destined to suffer days or even weeks of gross boredom. STUPID FOG, I HOPE THE LIGHT WOULD RETURN TO THIS PLANE, AND SO YOU WOULD KNOW THE PAIN OF RETREAT AND DISSIPATE... damn you, whimsical fog; you frustrate my desire to spit on the face of some stranger... [click here for more]
