A figure in the fog
A mist had begun to rise, a spectral shroud that twisted shapes and played tricks on wary eyes. Then, a silhouette materialized, briefly illuminated by the moon’s capricious gaze. It was a figure I knew, one often too inquisitive about our family, always lingering on the fringes of our gatherings. “Could it be?” Vivian’s whisper broke the silence. We watched the figure fade back into the fog, our suspicions rekindled against the backdrop of our unfolding drama.