The Pale Mist
The mist did not merely sit upon the village of Oakhaven; it possessed it, a living, breathing entity that swallowed the stones and the timber and the very air we breathed, leaving behind only a silence so profound it felt like a weight upon the chest, a heavy, velvet pressure that pressed against the temples and muffled the heartbeats of those who dared to walk its grey, formless streets. I...
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