The Wistful Saga
The mist in the valley of Oakhaven did not merely settle; it clung, a damp and suffocating shroud that smothered the stone cottages and the ancient, gnarled oaks whose roots drank deep of the earth’s sickness. It was a world where the air itself seemed to breathe with a heavy, wet rhythm, and where the boundary between the living and the forgotten was thin as a veil of spider silk. In the...
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