The Pale Mist
The bell tower cracked. It did not shatter. It did not explode. It split. A fissure, thin as a hair, ran from the apex to the base. Dust fell like snow. Silence rushed in to fill the gap. Elara stood in the courtyard. She wore the grey habit. The wool was thick. It was heavy. It clung to her skin. It was her skin. The mist rolled in. It was pale. It was cold. It smelled of ozone and old paper....
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