The Pale Tale
The rain did not fall so much as it was exhaled from the grey, iron-bellied sky, a constant, wet sigh that clung to the cobblestones of the district where the old university still stood, though its foundations had long since begun to rot into the marshland below. Arthur Vane stood at the center of the atrium, his hands raised not in surrender but in a gesture of desperate, futile warding, as...
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