The Pale Fracture
The stone did not weep, for stones are indifferent to the moisture of the air, yet to the eyes of those who walked the damp, cobbled arteries of the city of Orenthal, the ancient aqueduct seemed to bleed a pale, milky sap that pooled in the gutters like the curdled milk of a sick cow, a substance that tasted of iron and old sorrow on the tongue of anyone brave or foolish enough to lick the...
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