The Distant Metropolis
The rain did not fall so much as it was pressed down from the grey belly of the sky, a constant, wetting weight that seeped into the stone walls of the Infirmary of Saint Jude. It was a place of old legends and older stones, where the air tasted of camphor and the damp earth that lay just beneath the flagstones. Elara stood by the window, her fingers resting on the cold iron latch, watching the...
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