The Pale Mist
You stand in the green dark of the hollow, where the air tastes of rot and rain. It is not a place on any map, not a valley in the Appalachians nor a dip in the Scottish Highlands, but a pocket of space that has slipped out of time, sealed tight by fog that moves like living breath. You know you are here because you have always been here, or at least, it feels that way. The moss under your bare...
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