The Pale Bridge
The mist in the valley of Aethelgard did not rise so much as it exhaled, a slow, grey breath that swallowed the stones of the bridge and the faces of those who stood upon it. You are Elias, forty-two years old, and your hands are stained with the dark, viscous sap of the Pale Bridge, a structure that has spanned the gorge for three hundred years and is now dying. You want to repair it. You must...
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