The Pale Mist

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2026-08-18 01:12:28 -

The Pale Mist

The bell tolls once. Then again. The sound is not metal. It is bone. You wake on the cold stone floor. Your back aches. The air smells of damp wool and rot. You are in the chapel. Or what remains of it. The walls are weeping. Black water seeps from the mortar. You stand. Your legs shake. You are old. Your hands are twisted roots. You look at them. They are yours. You remember. You are Elias....

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