The Pale Mist
You wake with the taste of iron and rotting honey on your tongue, a flavor that has no business existing in the mouth of a man who has not eaten in three days, and the first thing you know, the only thing that is true in this white, humming void, is that the jar is gone, the heavy glass vessel that held the last of the ambrosia, the golden sludge that kept the hunger at bay, is shattered, its...
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