MrUniverse
Novice
A thin veil of fog curled around the cobblestones as you drift between quiet stalls and doorsteps dusted with the remnants of the day. Lanterns burn low in their iron cages, their wan light trembling like tired fireflies. As you step into the square, a whisper of rustling paper draws your attention. The notice board looms where it always has, sagging under layers of forgotten proclamations and rain-warped messages. Yet among them hangs a single fresh posting; its parchment crisp, its ink still dark and glistening in the lantern light, waiting for the first curious eyes to read it.
Pick it up?
Pick it up?