The Wistful Show
The fog that settled over the valley of Oakhaven did not rise like steam from a kettle or drift like a ghost through a corridor, but rather poured out of the earth itself, a thick, silent tide of white vapor that swallowed the cobblestones and the gnarled roots of the ancient oaks until the world was nothing but a blinding, suffocating void. Sir Edward Ashworth, a man whose spine had long since...
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