The Pale Mist

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2026-08-19 09:27:30 -

The Pale Mist

The feast in the infirmary was loud. Clinking silver. Shouting laughter. The smell of roasted boar and stale beer hung thick in the air. Margaret sat at the head of the long table. Her hands trembled. She held her goblet with both fingers. The crystal was cold. It bit into her skin. She did not let go. Across the table, Thomas Bradshaw grinned. He was a broad man. His tunic was stained with...

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