The Pale Mist
The fog that settled over the city of Oakhaven was not merely a meteorological phenomenon, but a living, breathing entity that seeped into the marrow of the stone and the blood of the men who walked its streets. It was a pale, viscous mist, thick as milk, that erased the boundaries between the street and the sky, the door and the wall, the self and the other. In the grand administrative hall of...
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