The Pale Protocol
The frost has begun to climb the leaded panes of the infirmary, a creeping lattice of ice that mirrors the rigid architecture of the city outside, a city where the stone streets are slick with the grime of industry and the breath of the citizens hangs in the air like a visible, suffocating shroud. You sit here, in the corner of the room where the light fails to penetrate, your hands folded over...
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