The Pale Tower
The mist does not merely enter the house; it seeps through the pores of the walls, a slow, cold invasion that turns the plaster into something damp and breathing, something that remembers the years of rain that have soaked this valley. You stand in the center of the hallway, the floorboards creaking under the weight of your stillness, and you feel the air growing thick, heavy with the scent of...
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