The Pale Mist
The sky did not break open so much as it peeled away, the familiar blue canvas tearing to reveal a void of swirling, iridescent mist that smelled of ozone and old, dried lavender, a scent that had no business existing in the late autumn chill of the Pennsylvania countryside, yet it hung heavy in the air, pressing against the windows of the Whitmore farmhouse until the glass groaned in protest....
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