Mists of Barovia
Stone towers rise, shrouded in a perpetual mist,
their edges sharp against the brooding sky.
Within the walls of Ravenloft, shadows stretch,
twisting in the torchlight, silent and waiting.
Echoes of footsteps spiral down ancient corridors,
lost among the secrets carved into cold stone.
Below, the village of Barovia nestles in the valley’s,
roofs sagging beneath sorrow’s weight.
Lanterns tremble in shuttered windows,
casting fleeting warmth on faces etched in caution.
A wolf’s cry pierces the hushed scattering bravado
drawing torn curtains tighter.
Mist seeps between cobblestones, and moss-covered walls,
curling around trembling hands and forgotten gravestones.
Children’s laughter is a memory, drifting through the fog,
as villagers whisper prayers to absent gods.
Night falls early; hopes are hidden long before the sun departs.
Up in the castle, a silhouette lingers by the arched window,
the Count watches the restless darkness below.
The heart of Barovia beats in dread silence,
tied to the fortress above, its fate written in unyielding stone.
'The Mists of Barovia' Contest
1/8/2026
Sponsored by: Robert James Liguori
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