The Pale Path
The rain did not fall so much as it descended, a heavy, grey curtain that erased the boundary between the cobblestones of Millhaven and the wet, breathing earth beneath them, turning the world into a slick, dark mirror where the reflection of the church steeple trembled and fractured. In the center of the town square, standing with the stillness of a statue carved from rain-soaked oak, was...
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