The Pale Mist
The first thing I noticed was not the cold, but the smell. It was metallic, sharp, and utterly wrong for a forest in October. It smelled like copper pennies left in a pocket too long, mixed with the ozone scent of a lightning strike. I was twelve years old, walking alone, which was a crime in itself, but I had to get to the ridge. I had to prove to myself that I was not the monster they thought...
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