The Pale Shadows
The morning fog in the city of Oakhaven did not merely settle upon the cobblestones; it seeped into the very marrow of the stones, a persistent, damp exhale that seemed to breathe with the slow, rhythmic labor of the ancient city itself, binding the shadows of the gargoyles to the eaves of the houses until the distinction between stone and air, between the solid and the ephemeral, became a...
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