The Pale Mist
The air in the cellar of the Ashworth estate was thick, not with smoke, but with the heavy, sweet rot of overripe pears and the iron tang of old blood. It was a place of shadows and damp stone, a vaulted space where the light from the single, high-set window filtered down through layers of dust, turning the air into a visible, suspended medium of gray and gold. Here, beneath the foundations of...
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