The Pale Mist

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2026-08-18 21:36:20 -

The Pale Mist

The fog did not lift. It thickened. I stood at the edge of the moor. The mist was a living thing. It breathed. It pushed against my chest. I was a soldier. I had worn the uniform for twenty years. The wool itched. The leather creaked. I was old now. My knees ached when the dampness rose. My father walked ahead. He did not look back. He never looked back. He moved through the grey veil like a...

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