The Pale Path
You stand at the edge of the terrace, watching the fog roll in from the sea, a thick, gray curtain that swallows the coastline and erases the horizon, leaving only the immediate, damp reality of the stone beneath your boots. The air is cold, a biting chill that finds its way through the layers of wool and linen, settling deep in your lungs where it feels like a permanent resident, a tenant that...
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