The Pale Mist
The sky above the valley did not break open so much as it simply ceased to be a sky, dissolving into a churning, violet-grey slurry that tasted of iron and old blood on your tongue, a sudden and violent unmaking of the world you had known, a world that had been so fragile and so quiet that its destruction felt less like a catastrophe and more like the final, exhausted sigh of a dying god. You...
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