Amelia stumbled into the night, her legs weak and trembling. The thick fog still clung to the world around her, swirling with an almost sentient hunger. Each breath burned in her chest, but the cold air was a relief compared to the suffocating presence inside the mausoleum.
She looked back, half-expecting to see Sarah—or the thing that had worn Sarah’s face—standing in the doorway, but there was nothing. Just the empty, crumbling structure shrouded in mist. The door remained open, as if mocking her escape.
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