The Pale Mist
He woke with the taste of iron on his tongue. The dream was gone. Only the weight remained. It pressed against his chest. A stone. Cold. Heavy. He did not move. The air in the cell was thick. It tasted of damp wool and old fear. He was Aldous. He knew this. He knew it the way one knows a scar. By touch. By pain. He sat up. The chains clinked. A small, sharp sound. It echoed in the stone walls....
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