The Pale Mist
You are in the cell. The stone is cold. It presses against your back like a wet shroud. You do not move. You are still. Your mother is dead. They took her. They say she is in the lower vault. You do not believe them. You know they lie. The mist rises from the floor. It is pale. It is thick. It tastes of iron and rot. "Are you awake?" The voice comes from the dark. It is soft. It is gentle. You...
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