The Pale Shadows
The dream was always the same: a road of white gravel stretching into a fog so thick it tasted of iron and old pennies. Elias stood at the edge of the cliff, his fingers digging into the loose shale, watching the mist swallow the world below. In his hands, he held a pair of shears, the metal cold and heavy, the blades worn to a dull, dangerous point. He was waiting for the sheep to come. They...
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