The Distant Metropolis
You are standing in the center of the room, and the air tastes of copper and burnt sugar, a thick, cloying sweetness that coats the back of your throat as you watch the chandeliers shatter around you, not with the crash of breaking glass, but with a silent, expanding implosion that pulls the light into a singular, blinding point before it dissolves into the dust of the floorboards. It is a...
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