The Pale Mist

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2026-08-20 09:54:19 -

The Pale Mist

The iron gates of the sanctuary did not creak. They parted with a silence so profound it felt like a physical weight pressing against the eardrums, a vacuum where sound should have been. I stood at the threshold, my hands trembling not from cold, though the air was thin and bitingly sharp, but from the sheer, crushing anticipation of what lay beyond. I had been a prisoner here for three days,...

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