The Pale Mist
You wake in the damp cold of the cellar, the air thick with the scent of rotting timber and old ink. The light is pale, a thin grey veil that does not seem to come from any window, for there are no windows. It simply is, a pervasive, suffocating luminescence that turns the shadows into suggestions rather than absences. You are sitting on a stool that has been worn smooth by centuries of use,...
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