The Pale Echo
The mist that clings to Oakhaven is not merely weather; it is a living, breathing membrane that swallows the sun and returns only a pale, sickly gray, and I have spent the last three weeks trying to map the topography of this silence with the precision of a man who knows that his life’s work hangs by a thread. I am Elias Thorne, a scholar of pathology and history, and I have come here to...
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