The Pale Shadows
The smell of roasted hazelnuts and sulfur hangs in the air, thick and cloying, a scent that you have learned to associate with the specific, metallic taste of your own blood. You are sitting in the high-backed chair of the Council Chamber, a room that smells of damp stone and old money, where the light from the gas lamps is dimmed to a bruised purple by the heavy velvet drapes. You hold the...
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