The Golden Compass
The iron bit in my mouth tasted of rust and old blood, a metallic tang that coated the back of my throat as I swung my blade against the spectral guard, the sound of steel on ethereal bone ringing out in the cavernous silence of the Hall of Whispers. I did not look up, not really, because looking up meant acknowledging the impossible, and I had spent the last three hours trying to convince...
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