The Pale Mist

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2026-08-17 18:29:37 -

The Pale Mist

The morning air in the Hall of Whispers tasted of ozone and old iron, a metallic tang that coated the back of my throat and settled into the bones of my teeth. I stood at the edge of the precipice, where the stone floor gave way to a chasm of swirling, pale mist that did not rise like smoke but hung suspended, thick and heavy as liquid wool. Below, the mist churned with a slow, hypnotic rhythm,...

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