The Pale Exile
The sky broke open like a rotten egg, and the rain fell upward. Marek watched the drops rise from the mud, defying gravity, drifting toward the bruised, purple heavens. He stood in the center of the Hollow, a place that did not exist on any map he had ever studied in the dusty libraries of Prague or the cold archives of Vienna. Here, the air smelled of ozone and old stone. The buildings rose...
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