The Distant Legend
The night I left the estate of the Whitmore family, the mist did not merely hang in the air; it possessed the heavy, suffocating texture of wet wool, wrapping itself around the ankles of the house and creeping into the lungs of the garden, a living, breathing entity that seemed to have grown roots in the cobblestones and spread its tendrils through the very foundations of the walls, a silence...
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