The Pale Fracture
You are a mason of the impossible, a craftsman who binds light to stone with a mortar of whispered names. In the City of Veils, where the sky is a bruised plum color and the towers spiral like frozen smoke, you have built a life out of necessity and art. The air here tastes of copper and old rain, a metallic tang that coats the back of your throat. You are not a man of flesh, not entirely. You...
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