The Distant Promise
You stand before the high, arched window of the Obsidian Hall, and the glass is not merely transparent but a membrane through which the world outside bleeds in, distorted and alien. The air inside is thick, heavy with the scent of damp stone and ancient, rotting roses that no one has watered in a century, a perfume that clings to the back of your throat like a secret you have forgotten how to...
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