The Pale Mist
The feast of the Harvest Moon was a thing of excess, a riot of roasted boar and spiced wine that stained the tablecloths of the great hall in the village of Oakhaven. The air was thick with the scent of roasting fat and the smoke of a hundred hearths, a heavy, cloying perfume that clung to the skin like a second layer of wool. In the center of this cacophony sat Elian, a boy of twelve years...
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