The Pale Mist
The rain had not stopped for six days, a ceaseless, grey curtain that blurred the edges of the world and turned the cobblestones of Oakhaven into a slick, treacherous mirror, and it was in this damp, clinging mist that Elias Thorne stood at the window of his study, watching the village church steeple dissolve into the fog, feeling the weight of the silence in his chest, a silence that had grown...
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