The Faded Photograph
The fog in the town of Oakhaven did not roll in from the sea, as it did in the coastal villages further south, but seeped up from the earth itself, a thick, grey miasma that tasted of wet slate and forgotten things. It clung to the eaves of the houses, to the iron gates, and to the people who walked its narrow, cobbled streets, softening their edges until they seemed less like solid bodies and...
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