The Pale Mist

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2026-08-18 15:55:48 -

The Pale Mist

The feast in the Hall of Whispers was not a celebration of life, but a slow, deliberate exhalation of the air before a storm that had no rain, only the gray, suffocating weight of the mist that pressed against the high, arched windows like a living thing seeking entry. Thomas Ashworth sat at the far end of the long oak table, his hands resting flat on the polished surface, fingers curled...

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