The Last Prism
(V-01: Victorian Melancholy) The fog of London did not merely drift; it breathed. It was a thick, sulfurous shroud that had claimed the city for a decade, turning the grand spires of Westminster into ghostly needles piercing a bruised, purple sky. In the heart of this oppressive gloom stood the Prism Tower, a jagged monolith of brass and obsidian that Arthur had spent twenty years perfecting....
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