The Pale Mist
The mist was thick enough to cut, but not with a knife. Gheorghe Popescu stood at the edge of the steppe, his boots sinking into the wet earth, and watched his men disappear into the white void. He had come for Elara, the healer who had broken the Church’s seal, to save his wife Mara, whose lungs were filling with fluid. The Bishop had promised that the heretic’s blood would cure the wasting...
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