The Pale Fracture
The hall was a cavern of polished obsidian and cold starlight, where the air hung heavy with the scent of ozone and the stale, metallic tang of old fear. You sat at the edge of the long table, your hands folded tightly in your lap, the white linen of your cuffs contrasting sharply against the dark wood, feeling the rough grain of the surface beneath your fingertips as if it were the skin of a...
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