The Pale Garden
The air tasted of copper and ozone, a sharp metallic tang that coated the back of my throat as the walls of the chamber began to dissolve. I was not fighting; I was observing. That is the distinction. My name is Elias Vane, and I am a cartographer of the invisible, though the men in the grey coats who sent me here preferred the term "asset." We were in the Undercroft, a place that existed in...
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