The Pale Mist
The first crack in the foundation was not heard, but felt, a tectonic shudder that traveled up through the soles of your boots and into the marrow of your shins. You stood in the center of the grand foyer of the Ashworth estate, the air thick with the scent of wet plaster and old dust, and watched as the hairline fracture spread across the white marble floor like a vein of black ice. It was a...
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