The Wistful Throne
The fluorescent lights of the Department of Botanical Archival Standards hummed with a low, electric frequency that seemed to vibrate directly in the teeth. It was a sound that had become so constant, so woven into the fabric of the air, that it no longer registered as noise but as a kind of atmospheric pressure. "Are you sure about this, Elias?" The voice belonged to Julian, who stood by the...
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