The Pale Banner
The room was not a room. It was a breath held in the lungs of a building that no longer existed. Mara sat on the floor, her knees drawn to her chest. The air tasted of ozone and old dust, a metallic tang that coated the back of her throat. Before her lay the object. It was a chair. Or rather, it was the memory of a chair, solidified into wood so pale it looked like bone. The varnish had worn...
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