The Pale Fracture
The fog does not roll in so much as it settles, a heavy, damp blanket that smells of wet wool and old iron, settling over the town of Oakhaven with the silent persistence of a debt that can never be paid, you realize, as you stand at the window of your small, drafty office in the municipal annex, watching the gaslights flicker and die one by one until the street below is swallowed by a grey...
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