The Faded Quadrant
The mist did not merely obscure the horizon; it consumed the very idea of distance, wrapping the stone spires of the Abbey of St. Jude in a shroud so thick and white that one could not tell where the earth ended and the sky began, leaving only the cold, damp weight of the air pressing against the skin like a living thing that had forgotten how to die. I had walked for what felt like centuries,...
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