The Distant Promise
You are in the white room, the one that hums with a frequency just below hearing, a vibration that settles in the marrow of your teeth and the base of your skull. The air is thick, saturated with the scent of ozone and crushed peppermint, a cloying sweetness that coats the back of your throat. You are the Keeper of the Tonic, the man who knows the precise alchemy of suffering, the one who...
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