The Pale Exile
The brass gears of the city did not tick so much as they groaned, a low, tectonic hum that vibrated up through the cobblestones and into the bones of those who walked them, a sound so constant that one ceased to hear it and instead felt it, a perpetual, subcutaneous thrumming that reminded every citizen of the mechanism in which they were merely a cog, a tooth of iron or flesh ground down by...
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