The Pale Mist
The silence in the house was not an absence of sound but a presence, a heavy, viscous thing that pressed against the eardrums like the water at a great depth. It was a Tuesday, or perhaps a Wednesday, the days having blurred into a singular, unbroken expanse of gray light that filtered through the high, arched windows of the manor, illuminating the dust motes that danced in the still air like...
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