The Pale Mist

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2026-08-19 00:56:10 -

The Pale Mist

The mist that rolled in from the moor was not white, but the color of old bone, a pale, sickly grey that swallowed the horizon whole. You stood at the edge of the cliff, the wind tearing at the hem of your wool dress, feeling the cold seep through the fabric and into your marrow. It was a cold that did not just sit on the skin; it lived there, a tenant that had refused to leave after the first...

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