The Pale Verdict
The walls breathe. You feel it before you see it. A damp, rhythmic expansion. The stone shifts under your boots. Not cracking. Not crumbling. Living. You stand in the center of the hall, the air thick with the scent of wet chalk and old iron. Your uniform is heavy. The wool clings to your skin, soaked through with a sweat that is not yours. It is the sweat of the building. It is the sweat of...
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