The Pale Mist
The air in the Hall of Whispers did not merely hang; it saturated, a thick, gelatinous fog of lavender and stale wax that clung to the velvet hangings and the polished oak floorboards like a second skin, and in this heavy, suffocating atmosphere where the shadows seemed to have weight and the silence had a texture that could be chewed and swallowed, Magistrate Elias Thorne stood before the High...
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