The Pale Mist
The mist did not arrive so much as it erupted, a violent exhalation of grey vapor that swallowed the spires of the Citadel in a single, suffocating breath. I was standing on the highest balcony of the Royal Library, my fingers stained with the indigo ink of my recent transcriptions, when the world simply vanished. There was no wind to precede it, no drop in temperature to warn the senses, only...
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