The Pale Bridge

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2026-08-21 15:18:05 -

The Pale Bridge

The fog rolled in from the harbor, thick and gray as wet wool. It swallowed the streets of Bristol, turning the gas lamps into dim, weeping eyes. Arthur Vane walked. His boots struck the cobblestones with a rhythm that felt less like walking and more like a heartbeat trapped in stone. The city was industrial, choking on its own smoke. Iron and coal. The scent of rust hung in the air, metallic...

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