The Pale Mist

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2026-08-17 17:28:12 -

The Pale Mist

The rain fell upon the cobblestones of the Abbey of St. Jude’s in a rhythm so persistent it seemed less like weather and more like the slow, wet ticking of a clock that measured not time but the erosion of the soul. You walked with your head bowed, the heavy wool of your cloak clinging to your shoulders, damp and cold, a second skin that tasted of iron and old stone, for you were not a man of...

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