The Golden Mirror
The fog did not rise so much as it exhaled, a thick, gray breath that pressed against the soot-stained windows of the mill, blurring the jagged silhouette of the industrial district into a smear of charcoal and ash. You were not meant to be there, not in the dead hour when the steam whistles had finally ceased their mournful screaming, but the pull in your chest, that ancient, tectonic shift in...
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