The Pale Mist
The ink on the document is still wet, a glossy, black vein that pulses against the heavy cream of the parchment, and you are watching it dry with the terrified focus of a man who has just seen his own reflection shatter in a mirror. You sit in the high-backed chair, the leather creaking under the weight of your silence, while the room hums with the low, industrial thrum of the ventilation...
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