Low clouds hung across the Vale of Mists, wrapping the ancient fortress in a soft, cottony layer of dense fog that made it impossible to see more than a few dozen paces beyond the reach of a person's own hands. For Ashlynn, as she sat behind the writing desk in her room, it meant that the world beyond her terrace vanished into the fog, leaving her feeling like the tower she had claimed for her coven was an island, floating in a vast sea of gray.
The fire in her hearth crackled merrily, filling the room with the faint fragrance of cedar smoke as it pushed back against the autumn chill in the air. Near her hand, a cup of hot jasmine tea added a faintly floral scent to the air that helped calm her heart.
