The Pale Mist
The shell did not break your skull, but it broke the world. You felt it first as a pressure in the teeth, a sudden, violent expansion of the air in your lungs, followed by the wet, tearing sensation of reality being pulled apart at the seams. You were standing on the cobblestones of King’s Cross, the soot from the factory district settling on your shoulders like a second, heavier skin. The rain...
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