You wake with the taste of iron on your tongue. The air is thin, cold, and smells of ozone and old paper. You are standing in a room that does not exist. Or perhaps it does, but only for the moment, suspended in a void of swirling grey mist. The walls are made of glass, but the glass is dark, like obsidian, and it reflects nothing but your own trembling form. In your hands, you hold a pair of...
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