The Pale Path
The mist did not so much hang over the valley as it seeped into the very marrow of the earth, a pervasive, dampening silence that swallowed the sound of the train wheels and reduced the sprawling, soot-stained industrial complex of the Blackwood Processing Facility to a ghostly silhouette against the bruised twilight, where Margaret Holloway stood at the edge of the loading platform, her breath...
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