The Pale Altar
The banquet hall of the City of Glass, a sprawling metropolis built not on soil but on the crystallized breath of ancient gods, hummed with a frequency that vibrated in the marrow of every attendee, a low, thrumming drone that tasted of copper and ozone on the tongue, where the air was so thick with incense and the sweat of the powerful that it seemed one could pull it from the ether and wrap...
0 Comments 0 Shares 13 Views 0 Reviews