Misery has always lived in Pontescuro, a small village in the lower flatlands of the Po river valley, where the fog always lingers. In the middle of the empty fields, there’s a dark bridge, built with stones and blood and of the fog itself. A castle rises on one of the two banks which this bridge unites, and a village lies on the other. 

It is by the bridge, among the fog and wet branches, that Daphne Casadio, the beautiful and scandalous daughter of the local landlord, is found dead with a red ribbon around her neck. 

Her death unleashes all the envy and nastiness among the poor village dwellers. 

Daphne, in fact, was the object of the desire of the same men who despised her libertine nature, and of the scorn of the Pontescuro women. For Daphne had known the power of seduction and had used it to take revenge against her father and those people who hated and desired her at the same time. 

The landlord makes effort to punish the culprit of this heinous crime… or a scapegoat at least: every finger points at the village fool, a countryside wanderer who would talk to birds, trees and rivers; maybe the only kind and innocent soul living in Pontescuro. Or, at least, this is what Daphne used to think, as she had found in him her only confidante. 

An unacceptable bond, one that had to be broken by whichever means...

Through the short tales whispered by the wind, the priest, the bird, the village idiot, the jealous priest’s housekeeper, the fog and the police detective, the story unfolds and truth eventually comes to the surface, unveiling the little horrors hidden in the depths of human hearts and their pettiness.