The Wistful Asylum
The mist did not merely settle upon the village of Oakhaven; it consumed it, wrapping the thatched roofs and the stone cottages in a shroud of damp, grey silence that felt less like weather and more like a living thing, breathing slowly against the skin of the earth. In this ancient, fog-bound place, where the calendar had long since lost its meaning and the seasons bled into one another with...
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