The Pale Meridian
The rain in Millhaven does not fall so much as it hangs, a grey, suspended mist that clings to the wool of your coat and seeps into the marrow of your bones, a constant, damp whisper that speaks of decay and the slow, inevitable rot of things left too long in the earth. You are the new officer, Thomas Bradshaw, and you stand on the porch of the station house, watching the fog roll down from the...
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