The Ether's Toll
(V-01: Victorian Melancholy) The fog of London did not merely drift; it clung. It was a grey, suffocating shroud that tasted of coal smoke and desperation, swallowing the gaslights of Whitechapel in a dim, jaundiced haze. For Arthur, a man whose life had become a series of precise, sterile measurements in a cluttered apothecary, the fog was the only thing that felt honest. It hid the rot of the...
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