The Pale Mist

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2026-08-22 21:08:14 -

The Pale Mist

The mist was not weather. It was breath. Thomas sat in the corner of the attic, his knees drawn to his chest, watching the pale vapor coil around the exposed rafters. The air smelled of wet wool and iron, a thick, cloying scent that sat on the tongue like a bad coin. He coughed, a wet, rattling sound, and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. The smear left a grey streak on his skin. Three...

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