The Wistful Ashes
The fog does not merely settle in the valley of Oakhaven; it invades, a thick, wet wool that chokes the breath from your lungs and erases the world beyond the reach of your hand, a grey, suffocating blanket woven by the unseen hands of the Magistrates who keep the sky low and the spirits close. You are Margot, and you are alone in the cellar of the old mill, the stone walls sweating with the...
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