The Wistful Mirror
The fog did not merely cover the moor; it consumed it. It was a living thing, a gray breath that rose from the wet earth and swallowed the horizon whole, erasing the boundary between the world of men and the world of ghosts. In this silence, where sound went to die, the only thing that moved was Silas. He walked with the heavy, deliberate rhythm of a man who had long ago stopped fighting the...
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