The Pale Mist
The rain had stopped, but the dampness lingered in the bones of the Blackwood Asylum, a heavy, wet silence that settled over the night shift like a shroud. I am Elias Thorne, forty-two years old, and I have spent the last three years keeping the lights on in the east wing, a task that requires more than just a key and a flashlight. It requires me to keep the Mist contained. The Mist is a...
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