The Wistful Skyline
The fog does not rise from the earth here; it descends, a heavy, white tide that swallows the horizon and erases the distinction between the sky above and the void below. You walk upon a pavement of slate that stretches into an infinite, mist-shrouded distance, the surface slick with a moisture that feels less like water and more like the condensation of breath, thick and cold against your...
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