The marshes were beautiful in the morning. The fine mist that rose up from them was glowing with rose-gold sunlight and the dark water looked calm and tranquil. Birds fluttered up from the treetop roosts and, in the water, there was the tell-tale gleam of a fish.
The sight was certainly stunning, nut the old king forced himself to look away. The marshes weren't beautiful, couldn't be beautiful. They were treacherous, evil, deceitful. They led you off your path, messed with your mind... even killed you.
"No," the old king decided. "Not beautiful".
YOU ARE READING
The King and the Will-o'-wisps
FantasyNot done yet...... Hopefully I can edit the description later.
