The Pale Mist
The air in the sub-basement of the St. Jude’s Orphanage was not merely stale; it was a physical substance, a thick, gelatinous medium that pressed against the skin and settled in the lungs with the weight of wet wool, carrying with it the distinct, chemical scent of boiled linseed oil, damp limestone, and the faint, sweet rot of forgotten flowers that had been crushed in the floorboards decades...
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